


Stay With Me

by Arriva



Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Prison, F/M, Gen, Mystery, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2018-10-28 04:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 47,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10823766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arriva/pseuds/Arriva
Summary: In 1997, Dr. Richard Strand was found guilty of the murder of Coralee Strand. Nearly two decades into a life sentence, he agrees to an interview with a reporter from an obscure little broadcasting company in the Pacific Northwest.





	1. The First Interview

Alex pictured bulletproof glass.

Maybe concrete walls. Maybe orange jumpsuits. She most definitely pictured bulletproof glass. And a row of phone booths separated by bulletproof glass. She'd be sitting on a stool on one side with the inmates all lined up on the other side, phones pressed to their ears. There'd be guards standing to the sides, armed and ready to break up a fight.

But the visiting room of the Washington State Correctional Facility has none of those things. Instead she sits in an open room that wouldn't look out of place in a library. The only indications that she's in a prison are the bars on the windows and the guard standing by the door.

She has three things on the table. Her notebook, meticulously detailing sources for her podcast. A prison-approved charcoal pencil. According to security, real pencils are a potential weapon. How they discovered that she'd rather not find out. And finally her recording equipment, her only permitted electronic. And she fought tooth and nail to get that in here.

Alex looks at the clock on the wall for the tenth time. 9:48. The interview was supposed to be at nine. She even arrived early.

She's prepared for everything about the interview except the subject himself. They haven't actually met face to face, haven't even talked over the phone. She has one brief letter to go off of. But her subject isn't without opinion. Every colleague, researcher, and acquaintance she's talked to have varying accounts:

_"He's a sociopath. Just watch the trial."_

_"I don't want to say he did it, but who knows? It's just a shame how it all turned out. Such a great mind gone to waste."_

_"He seemed distant. But I didn't know him very well... you never really_ know _a person, do you? The only person who knew him is probably chopped up and scattered across Washington by now."_

_"He mostly keeps himself. Most of the lifers do. I'd say he didn't do it, but you never know. Crimes of passion and whatnot. Fellow named Ray used to be here. One of the sweetest guys I ever met. He stabbed his wife thirty-eight times."_

But the man himself? As much a mystery as the case surrounding him. Still, Alex wanted this interview. Her podcast needed this interview.

Part of her can't help but wonder though...  _did_ he do it?

Then in walks Dr. Richard Strand, the man with two PhDs and a life sentence. The man she fought so hard to snag an interview with. He looks different but not as different as she expected. The pictures from his trial back in '97 showed a handsome man with cool blue eyes and a slender frame. The years in prison haven't completely worn that away. He's still slender but there's a wiry quality to him, like he'll snap at anyone who gets too close. Even as the guard leads him by the arm, he seems ready to tear himself away at the first sign of conflict.

Alex stands to greet him. Their eyes meet. Even behind a pair of outdated glasses, his eyes are even bluer than the picture captured them. Against his graying hair and beige jumpsuit, they're about the most vibrant thing about him.

She isn't sure if she should shake his hand or not and opts instead for a friendly smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Strand."

He doesn't return the smile. "Ms. Reagan. You're very persistent," he says bluntly. He sits down, and Alex follows suit. "And this is for your pod-cast?"

"It's like radio but online," she explains.

"Seems a little backwards to me," Strand says.

"Haven't you heard? Everything old is new again."

"It seems I'm behind on the times," Strand says dryly. He looks to the recorder and lets out a deep, bitter sigh. "Before we begin, I have one condition."

Alex shifts nervously in her seat. She prepared for conditions. 

"My wife is not to be discussed."

Including that one.

Would she love to get the first post-prison interview with Dr. Strand regarding his wife's disappearance? Absolutely. A disappeared spouse, a controversial suspect, an even more controversial trial? The story is a journalist's gold mine. Even the paranormal researchers she's interviewed can't help but bring up the respected but convicted felon whose writings are annoyingly prevalent in academia. Shifting her podcast to focus to the crime is tempting beyond words.

But she's writing a lifestyle podcast, not  _Serial_.

So instead of protesting, Alex puts a smile back on and says, "Agreed. Are you ready to start?"

The ease at which Alex breezes past such a heavy topic surprises Strand. He's trying his damnedest to hide it, but Alex catches the way his eyes widen and his lips part before he shuts himself off once more. But it's enough. Because she has an in. "Of course," he says.

"All right. What made you want to go into paranormal research?"

* * *

Strand reminds her of Alex favorite college professors. Brilliant and engaging with a confidence that could easily be misconstrued as arrogance. They start on how he got into paranormal research but soon enough, they're discussing his entire line of work. He talks about paranormal research with such passion, such intense knowledge, if they didn't have only an hour, she could listen all day. And he listens to her. What initially started as a series of questions turns into a natural conversation. His shoulders relax. He stops sneaking glances at the guard. She almost forgets they're in a prison.

But not quite. Alex hits a snag when they're discussing his research methods. "How have you been able to continue your research from prison?"

"I have a typewriter," Strand says. "Admittedly, it's a slower process, but I get work done. My assistant handles publishing and mails me any outside resources I need."

Alex makes a mental note to follow up about that assistant. "I noticed you don't use a pseudonym. Are you not worried your reputation as a felon might overshadow your academic integrity?"

Up until this point, Strand has slid effortlessly into each of his answers. But he hesitates at this question. Alex fears the fragile rapport they've built up might be a push away from falling apart.

"My... detractors often bring that up," he says. "I see no point in hiding my identity. There's nothing I can do about my conviction-"

"-even though they never found the body?" Alex blurts out.

Dammit.

Alex tenses the moment those words come out of her mouth. His one condition, _his_ _one single condition_ , and she broke it. Strand gives her a look that could melt ice. Her producers are going to kill her.

But after a moment, the fire in his eyes cools down, and he picks up where they left off. "Yes. Nonetheless, my conviction and my credibility are two different things..."

Strand remains tense for the remainder of the interview. Still intelligent, still passionate, but he never lets his guard down. Once Alex gets down to her last pre-written question, she knows it's time to wrap the interview up. Strand seems more than happy to return to his cell. Ironically.

Alex is putting her recorder away when Strand says, "May I ask you a question?"

Her hand latches on to the recorder. "On or off the record?"

"Whichever you prefer." She sets it back on the table and hits the record button. "Why did you seek an interview with me?"

"I told you-"

"For your show, I know. But why me specifically?"

_Do not bring up his wife, do not bring up his wife._

"I guess..." Alex searches for the best way to frame her response for the podcast. "You're somewhat of an anomaly. In your field of study, that is. A paranormal researcher who doesn't believe in ghosts? It makes for an interesting topic. That and..." The reporter in her wants to pull on this thread, even if her conscience wants her to keep it to herself. "A few days ago, I sat in on a paranormal investigation conducted by Dr. Emily Dumont-" Strand scoffs at the mention of her name. "-and your name came up. Your name's actually come up multiple times since I began work on this episode."

"And I'm certain Ms. Dumont had nothing but praise for my line of work." If sarcasm were a poison, Strand has enough to kill a fully grown man.

Forcing her tone to stay neutral, Alex says, "She expressed a few criticisms. As did others."

"What did they say this time?" he says as leans forward suddenly, too suddenly, and the guard clears his throat. Strand gives him a look and slowly, deliberately leans back.

Alex hesitantly replies, "I have the recording, but it's not exactly... flattering."

"I can handle it."

She's not sure if she believes him. But he did ask. She switches the tapes out and presses play. The recording brings her back to City Trust bank where Emily Dumont and her team were setting up that night's investigation. Strand sits with his arms crossed, but his face betrays no emotion. And only when one of Emily's assistants brings up Dr. Strand does Alex see the faintest hint of discomfort.

Knowing how the conversation goes before Strand does makes Alex feel even more uncomfortable. _"The paranormal research community is a tight-knit one, almost like a family,"_ Donnie, Emily's equipment engineer, says.  _"And Strand? He's not part of that family."_

 _"Despite his research contributions?"_ Alex hears herself say.

 _"I don't care how many articles he's published, that guy can rot in prison,"_ Donnie says.

And then that age-old question.

 _"Do you think he murdered Coralee Strand?"_  The Alex in the present stares at the tape rolling in the recorder like her life depends on it. She can feel Strand's eyes boring into her.

_"Absolutely."_

"That's enough," Strand says. Alex gladly switches the recording off. She meets his eyes and for the first time feels an instinct to _run_. She's had a hard time picturing him capable of murder. But the quiet, contained fury behind his eyes is far more chilling than an outburst.

She starts, "If it's any consolation-"

"It's nothing new," he says curtly, like they're talking about a bad review instead of murder. "Their self-proclaimed, 'paranormal research' is nothing more than flashing lights and parlor tricks. I've debunked entire cases from prison with more efficiency."

Nice to know prison hasn't chipped away at his confidence. "Are you saying that the investigation I sat in on was a fraud?" Alex says.

"Not to the people conducting the investigation," he replies. "They're so blinded by their own belief in something beyond the grave, that their findings are inevitably biased. Tell me, did they use the EMF reader?"

"They did."

"And were they waving it around?"

"...They were."

"There's your, 'ghost.' An EMF reader needs to be stationary." Strand looks at her with a hint of a smirk, like he's just won a chess match against a particularly easy opponent. Alex feels a little disappointed. His logic makes sense, but the ease at which he cut through a major part of the investigation is a tad underwhelming.

"So that's it? Case debunked?" Alex says incredulously. "I don't mean to sound critical, but I expected a little more from such a famed skeptic."

Strand huffs out a laugh. "A little more?" Alex can't tell if he's amused or irritated by her remark. He gestures to her notebook. "May I?"

Alex looks to the guard for approval, and he gives her a nod. She slides him her notebook and a pencil. Strand writes down a name and phone number. Alex peers at the writing. "Ruby Carver?"

"My assistant. Tell her I sent you. Ask her about the Robert Torres case."

"The Robert Torres case?" Alex echoes with uncertainty.

Strand gestures to the paper. "An opportunity to see how a real researcher approaches claims of paranormal activity."

"And if I need to discuss this case with you?" Alex says.

"Do you have a number I can reach you at?"

Alex blinks. Is he joking? "Wow. Are you sure?"

"I'm not exactly going anywhere."

Now he's definitely joking. She's not sure if she should laugh though. She pulls out one of her business cards and jots down her cell phone number on the back of it. "In case you need to reach me after hours," she says as she slides the card to him.

As Strand puts his hand down on the card, their fingers come close to touching. It doesn't dawn on Alex that she spent an hour with a convicted felon until the moment their fingers are centimeters apart. That this might be the closest Strand's come to touching someone outside the prison walls. That those same hands might be the same ones that murdered Coralee Strand.

Then Alex draws her hand away.

"I'll be in touch next week," Strand says as more of a declaration than a request. At this point Alex is too giddy to object anyways.

They say their goodbyes like normal people. Alex thanks him, he thanks her. They go over the consented release form one more time. Then the guard grabs Strand by the arm and leads him back to his cell, reminding Alex that their situation is far from normal.

Once security clears Alex to leave, she gets to her car and sits for a good thirty minutes finding everything she can about Richard Strand via phone. 

By the time she's driving through the gate, she has the barest bones of a new direction for her podcast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been waiting so long to write this, and I've finally had the time! I've had this idea for months, and I'm so happy I finally got to write it down. Now that I've gotten this out, I want to do more oneshots in this universe.


	2. Ruby

Ruby Carver is a tall, sharp-eyed woman with a face shadowed by a half-moon haircut. The haircut fits her. Ruby is even more of an enigma than her boss. Alex couldn't find anything online about her apart from a private Facebook profile. Even her profile picture was a black-and-white silhouette.

The spacious, three story house with faded yellow paint contrasts starkly with its tenant. It's too empty for one person. Still, Ruby moves through the living room with the ease of a longtime resident. "Feel free to get comfy." Ruby chucks off her combat boots and plops down on a couch that looks older than she is. Alex takes a slightly less dated ottoman. Alex looks around at a living room that is too sparsely decorated to feel lived in. Boxes and papers sit in little piles of organized messes. There's a single Pixies poster on the wall.

"So you're Dr. Strand's assistant?" Alex says.

"Yep."

"And this is where you live."

"You don't think I could get a place like this," Ruby says like she's used to the skepticism. "You're right. Strand inherited the house from his dad, but since Strand's clearly got no use for it, it's now my center of operations."

"Homey."

"It's rent-free so yeah, it's pretty damn homey."

Alex looks around, taking the history in. Two generations of Strands. And all it's amounted to are boxes and dust. She can only imagine a younger, happier Strand growing up in a house like this, not knowing what the future held in store. Was this where he and Coralee lived? Did they intend to raise a family here? Did Coralee know the day they left on that road trip would be her last day in this house?

Those questions will have to come later. "How do you, 'assist' Dr. Strand?" Alex asks Ruby.

"Research mainly," Ruby says. "I deal with publications and getting any necessary research materials to Strand. And some more practical work. Manage his estate, water his plants-” Alex laughs. “-all letters to him go through me first."

"I take it you’re the one who read mine?"

Ruby grins knowingly. "All eleven of them."

"What made you want to work for Strand?"

"It was chance really. Back in 2007, I was visiting a friend in prison-"

"Can I ask what for?"

"Drugs," Ruby says with a finality in her voice. "There was mix-up in visitations, so I was face-to-face with a guy I'd never met. But we got to talking. Turns out Strand and I are both fans of the Pixies." So that explains the poster. "I ended up sending him a few CDs, we kept talking over letters, he started forwarding his research to me for publication help. By the time Strand formally hired me to be his assistant, I was practically doing the job already."

"What kind of research does Strand employ you to do?"

"When Strand isn't getting letters from fangirls-

"Strand has 'fangirls'?"

Ruby gives her a look that says _Really? You didn't know?_ "He's an attractive single felon with a rugged past and a highly publicized court case. Of course he has fangirls."

Alex frowns. The picture in her mind is a strange one.

"Anyways, people write him about hauntings, possessions, other alleged ghostly activity. I'm sort of the middleman between Strand and his cases. Which is what you're here for right? A case?"

"The Robert Torres case," Alex clarifies.

"Oh, the Bobby Torres case! That's a good one." Ruby springs up. "This way."

She opens a creaky door and leads Alex down a hallway to another creaky door. They enter what looks like a study. This room is homier than anywhere else Alex has seen in the house. This room has less boxes, more pictures and books. An old record player sits to the side along with a stack of records. A desk is positioned against a giant window that looks out into the backyard. Alex can picture Ruby sitting there on a rainy day, listening to the Pixies, typing out emails, and researching Strand's cases.

While Ruby goes straight to her computer, one corner of the room catches Alex's eye. There's a medium-sized box marked _Richard's Things_ in Sharpie. She goes to the box. At the very top are faded blueprints. "Was Strand renovating?" Alex says.

Ruby stares wistfully at the blueprints. "Strand was looking to form an institute for paranormal research before... everything."

Everything.

The weight of what could have been sucks all the coziness out of the study. But Alex can't  _not_ look. Looking is her job. She sticks her hand in the box and rifles around. Her fingers land on a picture frame. Pulling it out takes some digging, but Alex manages to get it. When she looks at the picture, she gets chills.

A young Richard and Coralee Strand stare back at her.

They're sitting on a bench. It looks like a park probably during autumn or early winter judging by the leaves and their coats. The couple's fingers are entwined, and they're so close they risk getting tangled up in each other. It looks like the photographer caught them only seconds before they burst into laughter. They look so young. They look so  _happy._ What happened?

"You want to talk about it, don't you?"

Alex looks up to see Ruby glaring at her. Like she's been caught cheating on a test. "Talk about what?"

"Don't bullshit me. You're a reporter," she says sharply.

Alex sighs, embarrassed. Ruby isn't wrong. "I really am here for the Robert Torres case," Alex says. "But I can't simply ignore what happened to the Strands. Not when it's affected his entire career."

Ruby softens. "No, I understand. But let me put it this way: Strand didn’t hire me because I’m the best letter-writer in the world. He hired me because he trusts me," she says. "And the last time I brought up Coralee to him, I nearly lost my job. I don’t want to break that trust again. I'd recommend you do the same."

Alex has to ask. Ruby knows Strand possibly better than anyone else she's talked to. "Do you think he murdered Coralee Strand?"

Ruby is silent for a moment. She purses her lips and grips the edge of the desk like the question physically pains her to think about. "No," she says softly. "But I do think he’s involved."

"How so?"

"I assume you know he went missing for five days after Coralee's disappearance?" Alex nods. She wouldn't have gotten this far if she hadn't done all her research. "No one can account for what happened during those five days."

"The cops said he was on the run."

"Maybe. But why would Strand stay in Washington? Why didn't he put up a fight when they caught up to him?" Ruby says.

Alex doesn't have any more answers than Ruby does. When Alex read about the case online, she naturally assumed that Strand was running away from the police. If Strand wasn't though... what _was_ he doing those five days? The only person who might be able to tell them is currently locked away in a cell.

She feels sorry for Ruby. Alone in a house that doesn't belong to her. Sitting on questions about what happened to Coralee Strand but never being able to discuss them with Strand himself. In the moment after Alex asked her about Coralee, Ruby looked tired. A little sad too.

Alex can only imagine how Strand feels. 

However, she knows they've sidetracked completely from the reason Strand sent her here. "So you were going to show me the Robert Torres case?"

Ruby perks up once again. "Right. One second." She reaches into one of the desk drawers and pulls out a black VHS case.

"Is that an actual VHS tape?"

She looks back at Alex with a knowing smile. "You'll see. Alex, do you believe in ghosts?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little follow-up to the last chapter! I'm so happy you guys are into this so far!


	3. Apophenia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm not gonna go into a lot of detail about the cases because we've all been there, and this story's more focused on Strand. But the cases will come up every now and then when relevant to the plot! Like here!

If anyone asked Alex Reagan if she believed in ghosts, she'd probably say no. She loves ghost stories, but the idea of the dead or demonic lingering in the land of the living feels a little farfetched to her.

But the story of Robert Torres and the long-limbed shadow figure makes her curious.

It makes her curious enough to travel to San Francisco then Los Gatos to interview the fractured Torres family. When she interviews Robert Torres and his estranged wife Maria (now going by her maiden name), they are both weighed down by literal and figurative ghosts. As Alex listens to their harrowing account of the shadow figure tormenting their family, she can see why. Real or imaginary, the shadow figure is the source of a lot of pain for them both. Putting more strain on the family is Maria's claim that the figure has moved on to their son Sebastian. "Tall Paul," Sebastian called him with an innocent smile. Alex finds the irony unnerving.

Alex also finds both Robert and Maria have just as much to say about Strand as they do their specter.

"I trusted him!" Robert says emphatically. "I was desperate, okay? After going through so many paranormal investigators, I didn't care about Strand's reputation. When he said there was nothing evil tormenting us, I believed him. But he just made everything worse."

"I'm so sorry."

" _You_ have nothing to be sorry about."

"Did you ever speak to Dr. Strand personally?"

Robert looks at the empty chair at his kitchen table with a haunted expression. "Once. Over the phone. He was one of the most uncaring people I've ever talked to."

Maria has the same passionate anger toward the good doctor. "Dr. Strand has no empathy. I told him about the shadow man, the way that thing follows Sebastian around, and do you know what he said?"

"What did he say?"

"He said I should, 'consider seeking psychiatric help.' Like he has room to talk! I don't know why Robert thought he could ever help us."

And when asked whether they thought he murdered Coralee Strand?

"Yes."

"Yes."

* * *

As Alex is mixing what's shaping to be a very long pilot episode, Strand's promised phone call comes. He wastes no time with small talk and asks her straightaway her thoughts on the case. And Alex definitely has thoughts. About both the case and Strand's role in it.

But there's one aspect in particular that stands out to her. "You didn't solve it."

"Excuse me?"

"You didn't solve the case. You said you wanted to show me how, 'a real researcher approaches claims of paranormal activity.' But I don't understand how an unsolved case is supposed to do that."

"Solving the case isn't the takeaway here," Strand explains. "I was trying to demonstrate how a real researcher doesn't jump to conclusions of paranormal activity in the face of inconclusive evidence."

Alex is silent for a moment. "But you didn't solve the case."

She hears him sigh on the other end.

"You're focusing on the wrong aspects of this case," Strand says in full lecture-mode. "The reason I haven't closed the Torres case yet is because we lack the proper resources or technology to do so. I'm not going to jump to conclusions of paranormal activity just because I lack the technology. But I can assure you they're not being 'haunted' as they claim."

"Are you not concerned that ruling out paranormal activity is limiting your perspective?" Alex challenges him.

"I hardly find the scientific method 'limiting.'" Strand replies. "Think about how far we've come with research. Before Freud pioneered psychoanalysis, anyone suffering from mental illness was described as possessed by demons. Or stolen by fairies. Take your pick. We fear what we don't know, then we add our own lore to that fear. For the Torres family, the fear of a bad marriage translates into a, 'shadow man' haunting them. That's not even considering the chances of apophenia clouding their-"

"Hold on,  _apophenia_?"

"The tendency to attribute supernatural meaning to mundane occurrences," Strand rattles off. "As I was saying, the Torres situation isn't an anomaly. A young couple with a child is a stressful situation, especially for parents not knowing how to handle parenthood. The strain of marriage manifests itself in unusual ways. More than likely Robert and Maria are projecting the cracks of their marriage into these so-called shadow people." 

Alex has to hand it to Strand. He's not completely out of left field. "Maybe... but they didn't seem to have a bad marriage. When I spoke with Robert and Maria Torres-"

"Wait, you did  _what_?"

The indignation in his voice takes Alex aback. "I talked to Robert and Maria. About the haunting. Their son Sebastian too," she says, struggling to keep her tone even. "The only thing that seemed to be taking a toll on their marriage was this shadow figure and the danger it posed to Sebastian."

She gets nothing but silence on Strand's end.

"They also seemed to find you cold and condescending," she adds.

"Of course they did," Strand says. "You saw the state of their marriage. They were already separated so obviously their marriage was on the rocks. They hired me expecting me to solve all their problems-"

"Isn't that why you were hired though?" Alex interjects. "To solve these shadow figures?"

"I'm a researcher, not a marriage counselor. It was clear after my phone calls with Robert and Maria that the root of their problems was an inability to console the reality of their failing union with their paranormal delusions."

The flippancy of Strand's explanation gets under Alex's skin more than she anticipates. "So a bad marriage? That's all?"

"You sound surprised," Strand says, unfazed. "Surely find you that far more reasonable than any supernatural explanation."

"It's not that I find it unreasonable. I just think you're reducing the Torres' genuinely frightening experiences down to something that fits _your_ viewpoint instead of theirs."

"I'm being rational. Some marital problems manifest in fights. Some marital problems manifest in sightings of shadow people-"

"I find it a little hypocritical that _you're_ lecturing me on the consequences of a bad marriage."

Oh god.

She shouldn't have said that.

The other line is dead silent. She's convinced Strand hung up on her.

Then after seconds that pass like years, "Have you ever been married, Ms. Reagan?"

Strand's voice has that quiet, contained fury she remembers from playing the Dumont interview. Like he fully knows he could yell but he's choosing not to. She can picture him in the prison hunched over in a phone booth, gripping the phone with enough force to break it. What would he do if he was in the studio right now? How would he react?

"No," she says softly.

"Then don't  _you_ find it a little hypocritical?"

Fair enough.

"I'm sorry. That was insensitive of me," Alex says.

She's waiting for him to hang up any second now. Miraculously, he doesn't. But he's clearly not forgiving. "As a journalist, I thought you'd be a little more... tactful."

Alex has a better idea of why so much of the paranormal research community can't stand Dr. Strand. There's no way she's the first person to snap at him. She couldn't help herself. It felt like for every argument she made, he batted them away like flies. He has to know she didn't mean for that to come out. Not after she's been this careful.

"I really am sorry." Strand doesn't respond. She looks through her notes for her list of pre-planned questions. "So, um... are there more of these black tapes?"

Silence.

"I'm going to hang up now."

* * *

With no promises of a follow-up from Strand, Alex proceeds as normal with her new podcast. Strand and all the other paranormal researchers are relegated to a single episode. Well, two episodes to accommodate the Robert Torres case. Alex argues with Nic about keeping that part in. He argues that it's more relevant to Strand's line of work specifically than paranormal research as a whole.

He's painfully right.

It kills her to shelve the Robert Torres story.

By the day before her projected air date, Alex is in the studio wrapping editing on her first episode. A well-written stand alone on paranormal research. She should be proud. Her journalism is solid, she's right on schedule, and she has an interesting story.

So why can't she edit out the feeling of wasted potential?

Elena, one the interns, peeps her head in the doorway. "Hey Alex? You got a package."

Strange. Alex doesn't recall ordering anything. Elena leaves it by her desk. It's just a small padded parcel, barely big enough to hold a book or...  _a tape_.

Alex tears into the packaging.

Another black tape. Along with a sticky note saying  _Strand wanted you to see this one - Ruby_. Alex hastily opens the tape, and the first thing she sees is a standard-issue envelope from the Washington State Correctional Facility. 

_Dear Ms. Reagan,_

_I wanted to apologize for my behavior over the phone. I realize that my demeanor may come off as "cold" or "condescending" given my time under incarceration. I simply seek the truth. I’ve had Ruby send you another tape from my collection - I believe you referred to them as "black tapes." I think you will find this one particularly interesting. I’ll call you the same time next week, provided you wish to discuss this case as well. Take care._

_\- Richard Strand_

Alex has to stop herself from screaming in delight. He's still an asshole. But he's an asshole who wants to share his work. 

Her first episode airs tomorrow. The file is sitting in her computer. Alex doesn't think long on her decision. She pulls up the file. With a few swift keyboard motions, _01 The Interesting Lives of Paranormal Researchers_ becomes  _01 A Tale of Two Tapes_. After looking at it for a second, she adds  _Part I_. 

As she saves the file, a shiver goes through her. Maybe it's her imagination -or  _apophenia_ as Strand would put it- but the decision feels right.

She picks up the second tape and smiles. The Black Tapes. She likes the sound of that.

She makes one more adjustment.


	4. A New Direction

"So an underground Seattle-based hard rock band contacted you about this case?"

"What's more hard rock than hiring a felon?"

While not an avid listener, even Alex knows of the band Hastur Rising. Any Seattle native does. She's not entirely surprised they contacted Strand. Compared to the devil worshipping, Bible burning, and cat sacrificing (although that last one was only a rumor), it's one of the less outrageous things the band's done. "So have you listened to them?"

"They gave me a CD," Strand says. "It was a little too... abrasive for my tastes. I prefer more sophisticated acts."

"Ruby told me you listen to the Pixies."

"Exactly."

Strand is in a better mood today, which puts Alex in a better mood. Despite the dark subject matter of his latest black tape -a sound that supposedly kills whoever listens to it within a year- their discussion is much more lighthearted. Strand even cracks a few jokes. He has a surprisingly dark sense of humor. Or maybe not so surprising given what he's devoted his life to studying.

Neither of them mentions their altercation from last week.

She can't tell if they've made up or not, and she gets the feeling Strand isn't so sure himself. And so Alex and Strand tiptoe around each other. Alex keeps her questions strictly to the Unsound. Strand is slightly less patronizing. They have a wonderful, haunting discussion about the history of the Unsound.

Alex only comes close to the topic toward the end of their conversation, and even then she chooses her words carefully. "I just want to say... I appreciate you giving me another chance. After our last phone call."

"You're welcome."

He sounds much less terse than she anticipated. More like he's as ready to move on as she is. Alex takes a deep breath. This next question could either give her further insight into Strand or end their phone call. "What I'm wondering though is... why are you doing this?"

"Why did I share this tape with you or why am I further involving myself with your story?" he asks.

"Both, I guess."

Alex expects a lot of things in his answer. Arrogance. Cynicism. Intelligence.

What she does not expect is sadness.

"I'm never getting out of here," he says quietly. He pauses, like saying that out loud took the breath out of him. "Once I... hit my ten-year mark, that became apparent. But I refuse to let my time in here prevent me from continuing my work. Not when so-called researchers continue to plague the paranormal research community with bad science. We have to maintain the spirit of skepticism if we ever hope to make scientific progress." And there's the arrogance Alex expected. "What I'm lacking is a platform. It's difficult enough to get my work published from prison. But you're a respected journalist."

"Wow." Alex never thought she was such high caliber journalist. "So the show is a way to get your work out there?"

"Precisely. And..." His voice gets quiet again. "I don't want to be remembered as a murderer."

And with nine simple words, Alex Reagan has an ethical dilemma.

* * *

This ethical dilemma is not her first and certainly not her last. Several days after her conversation with Strand, what he said still sticks with her. She knows because she has a queasy feeling in her stomach. Knowing how he feels about his reputation makes Alex worry she's telling two stories and hiding one from him. She's already introduced Coralee Strand to her listeners. Dropping the subject now would feel forced. But she doesn't want to continue going behind Strand's back.

Yes, she definitely has an ethical dilemma. So she does what she always does in the face of an ethical dilemma: gets Nic Silver in the studio with her and turns the recorder on.

"Let me get one thing straight: you're not focusing the podcast on Strand's wife?" Nic asks.

"I'm trying not to," Alex says. "But everyone keeps bringing her up."

Nic raises an eyebrow. "Do they keep bringing her up or do  _you_ keep steering the interviews toward her?"

Alex knows that look. That's the reason why she's talking this out with him. "I didn't...  _intentionally_ steer any interviews. What I'm finding is Strand generates a lot of strong opinions, and his conviction seems to propel a good deal of those opinions."

"So everyone thinks he's a jackass."

"Exactly!"

They both laugh. It's obviously more complicated, but Nic gets what she's trying to articulate. Whenever she tries to keep the conversation on Strand's work, her subjects inevitably bring up some part of the Coralee Strand case. "Strand very clearly doesn't want to discuss her. But I feel as a journalist it's my duty to report information that's important to the narrative."

"Keep in mind, this is your podcast, not Strand's," Nic says. "Do you think Coralee's story adds something to your narrative?"

If only she had a perfect yes or no answer. "I'm not sure yet. But I don't want to close that door in case it opens up in the future."

Something else has been bothering Alex. For every time Coralee Strand's come up between them, Strand has never outright confessed to killing her. Not just with Alex either. Going through court transcripts, Alex found that Strand retained his innocence right down to the guilty verdict. He even refused a plea bargain. When reporters asked why, he responded, "It would be like claiming authorship of an article I didn't write. Degrading and downright humiliating."

He didn't exactly win over the public with that remark.

To this day, he hasn't confessed. Which isn't inherently surprising. Dozens of convicted murderers do the same thing even in the face of indisputable evidence. But Strand's case  _doesn't_ have indisputable evidence. There's not even a body. Alex hates thinking so morbidly, but it's true.

No one has seen Coralee in nearly twenty years, which leans more toward the theory that she's dead. But there have been cases -Lula Hood, Jaycee Dugard, Winston Bright- of people disappearing only to emerge decades later. Given how much forensic technology's advanced, surely Coralee's remains could be located now. The fact that they haven't suggests she might still be alive.

Then again, shouldn't technology -social media in particular- make her easier to find if she  _is_ alive? Alex finds it hard to believe someone wouldn't snap a picture if they saw Coralee Strand walking around alive and unharmed.

"I just don't know," Alex says, burying her head into her organized mess of papers for the Unsound episode. 

Nic grabs a stray couple of papers that are two pushes away from falling out of the stack. "Well, if you _do_ decide to pursue the case further, I think Strand should know you're investigating even if you choose not to involve him."

Alex lifts her head. Nic inadvertently brought up an excellent point. Just because she's investigating Coralee's disappearance doesn't mean she has to involve _Strand_. He's the only person who takes issue with discussing her.

He's also not aware of Alex's external research into the case.

The queasy feeling is still there. She can't go forward without his consent. "So I'll talk to him about what direction I want to take this podcast in. And if he gives the okay, then I'll continue looking into Coralee Strand."

"Sounds like a plan," Nic says with a nod of approval. "And you aren't worried about the inevitable  _Serial_ comparisons?"

"Does  _Serial_ have ghosts?"

"Touché."

* * *

The next day, she gets a surprise phone call from Strand who seems to have just as much on his mind as she does.

"I haven't been entirely forthcoming with you."

He took the words right out of her mouth.

"Hastur Rising didn't first contact me about the Unsound. A young man named Travis Collinwood introduced it to me," Strand says. "We only spoke twice over the phone. He died a few months later."

"This is... wow. A lot to take in," Alex says. Her mind is spinning off to what connections Travis might have to the Unsound. But she grounds herself. She needs to do this now. "I'm actually really happy you called. If we're continuing our collaboration, we need to set some boundaries."

"Boundaries?"

"What we can and cannot discuss in interviews. Particularly... Coralee."

"Coralee." The name sounds uncertain on his lips.

This is their first time mentioning her by name. She can't read his reaction over the phone. She could barely read him in person. "I wanted you to know that she's come up a few times in other interviews," Alex says. "Along with your connection to her."

"...I see."

Alex grips her phone, wishing for the lengthy phone cords from her childhood that she'd twist around when she got nervous. "So... what are you thoughts? I can't exactly read minds," she says with a shaky laugh. "...If you're not okay with this, you can tell me. I'd rather shut this down now than get ten or twenty episodes in."

He doesn't say anything.

"Dr. Strand?"

"Sorry, I'm... I'm thinking."

She lets him think. As the wait grows longer, she resorts to pacing across her shoebox of an office.

At last, he speaks. "Why is she relevant?"

"I know you aren't comfortable talking about her," Alex says quickly. "Dr. Strand, do you know what I wanted to be when I grew up?"

"A journalist?"

Alex laughs. "Close. I wanted to be Nancy Drew."

"You wanted to be a detective?"

"No I mean I _specifically_ wanted to be Nancy Drew. I dressed up as her for Halloween four years in a row," Alex says. "Nancy solved mysteries, but she also met interesting people. I got into journalism because I wanted to meet interesting people. That's why I started this show. I had no idea I would end up narrowing it down to your work specifically. But this show is just as much about people as it is about your work."

"And Coralee? Is she one of those, 'people?'"

"In some of my interviews, yes," Alex responds. "However, I stand by our agreement. I won't instigate the topic of your wife's disappearance. But I don't want to hide things from our listeners. I think some acknowledgement will add to our credibility rather than trying to suppress it."

"Well, I wouldn't want to diminish your credibility," Strand says in a suspiciously calm voice.

"Is that sarcasm?"

"What do you think?" He sighs deeply. "I'm not happy. But I understand why you're including her."

"So you're okay with this?"

"I suppose," he says, the most frigid endorsement Alex has ever gotten. "But like you said, I stand by our agreement. I do _not_ want to discuss my wife."

Alex feels a weight lift off her chest. She didn't expect him to graciously allow her to poke into his dark past. She didn't even expect to get this far with Strand. Every conversation with him has felt like walking blindfolded across an open field. Buried with landmines.

But if she can make it across, make it through every compromise and touchy subject, everything will be worth it.

"Okay. So tell me about Travis Collinwood," Alex says.

And just like that, the walk begins again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, the podcast we know and love will be coming to an end in a few months, and I get the horrible feeling someone's gonna die and that someone's probably Strand. Good thing this takes place in an alternate universe! Still, I'm pushing hard to wrap this story up before the third season begins.
> 
> And thanks for leaving comments/kudos, everyone! I had no idea if this story was going to work or not, and it really helps reading such wonderful things from everyone!


	5. Mulder and Scully

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate chapter title is #justiceforstrand.

Alex Reagan has the perfect podcast.

Okay, not perfect. She could always use better recording equipment. And she's certain in hindsight, she'll regret certain storytelling aspects. But The Black Tapes is by far her most successful project. 

Alex and Strand develop a solid pattern. Strand forwards a tape to her, they go over any necessary context, Alex goes out and does follow-up research, then they reconvene and discuss the case. Their banter could give Mulder and Scully a run for their money. Strand is undoubtably Scully, and while Alex never considered herself a Mulder, she often lands in that position by challenging Strand's theories on the cases.

And not once does Alex bring up Coralee Strand.

…

At least not to Strand.

But that doesn't stop her listeners from chiming in.

_"Just wanted to say I love the show! I listen to it before I go to bed! Do you think they'll reopen the Coralee Strand case?"_

_“Is Dr. Strand looking for a wife? Now that Coralee’s out of the picture?”_

_"Strand is completely bogus. He's doing this for attention!"_

_"Dr. Strand is innocent! Coralee was abducted by aliens. I know I sound crazy, but I have proof!"_

_"Is Dr. Strand hot? He's got a sexy voice, but he's also been in prison for, like, ever."_

_"#justiceforstrand"_

Alex gets far more responses than she ever hoped to receive. For the most part, her listeners are incredibly supportive. Their encouraging messages make going through her work email bearable. Alex makes a habit of writing her favorite messages on sticky notes and posting them in the break room.

But every now and then, one or two messages come along that...  _unsettle_ her.

Like the cafe. It happened the day after Strand sent in his next black tape. Alex was sitting in a cafe a few blocks from the studio making notes. She got up to order coffee. She waited. The rush of commuters trying to get their caffeine fix made her wait slightly longer than usual. After ten, maybe fifteen minutes, she came back. She found her phone exactly in the position she left it.

Except someone recorded a message on it.

She finds it in her video folder. The video is brief, no longer than forty-five seconds. Her camera only shows the ceiling in the cafe, like someone just walked up and tapped on the camera app. Amongst the chatter in the cafe, a grainy static voice says,  _"He's not who you think he is."_

Her and Nic consider upping safety measures, but in the end, all they really do is set up a passcode lock on her phone. The PNWS building is card-activated, and Alex is smart enough to conduct her interviews with strangers in public places. 

But the mysterious message still bothers her. Were they talking about Strand? And if so, was the message a warning or a threat?

"Oh yeah, Strand's gotten death threats," Ruby says over coffee (at a different cafe) with Alex.

Alex nearly chokes on her latte. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah. I mean they're mostly letters. Although one time someone did send him a snake," Ruby says without even flinching. She notices the look on Alex's face. "Don't worry, it was a dead snake!"

Alex switches PO boxes. Just in case.

Her and Strand don't get a chance to talk until her four-hour drive to Charlesworth. Midway through their discussion on the Festival of the Upside Down Face, Alex brings up the video. Strand attacks it with his normal dose of skepticism. "Are you sure the voice is saying, 'He's not who you think he is'?"

"What else would it be?" Alex says as she pulls off the highway onto her exit. The first drops of rain start hitting her windshield.

"Play it again."

Alex sighs and plays a video she now has memorized. Cafe. Ceiling. Mysterious voice. She even pinpoints the exact second the voice starts talking. "At this point, it doesn't even sound like English," Alex says wearily.

"That's all the more reason to consider your mind is playing tricks on you. You might assume the noise is a language when it's actually just random noise," Strand says. "Back in the 1980s, religious fanatics were convinced you could find Satanic messages in songs by playing them backwards..."

If Alex wasn't dealing with an increasingly heavier onslaught of rain and a route she wasn't familiar with, she might listen more closely to Strand droning on about Satanic messages and eighties bands. "...fearing the alleged, 'drug-infused witchcraft' of Stevie Nicks. Listeners wouldn't hear the 'hidden message' until it was pointed out to them."

"But this isn't a hidden message," Alex says.

Strand thinks for a moment. "Are you sure there wasn't some kind of technical error that might cause your cell phone to start recording on its own? Even the best technology goes on the fritz."

"Have you ever  _used_ a cell phone?"

"...No."

* * *

At a mostly empty motel just outside of Charlesworth, Alex tosses her notes on the bed and pours herself a much-needed glass of wine. She'll deal with her conglomeration of dead homecoming queens, upside-down faces, and family curses tomorrow morning. No use untangling the story after an already long day.

 _This is good_ , she thinks as she swirls her wine around,  _I have a good thing going_. She takes a big gulp of wine.

 _I can't push my luck._  

She watches the rain pour from her window. Hopefully, it'll clear up by tomorrow; she still needs to interview the sheriff and potentially the town librarian. Alex can't believe how easily everything's falling into place. The story in Charlesworth is a good one. Like the Unsound was good. Like the Torres case was good.

Just how many tapes does Dr. Strand have anyways?

That question will have to wait until their next phone call. Speaking of, Alex needs to charge her phone. She goes to grab it from her purse. She unlocks it and sees the usual: text from Nick, voicemail from her mom, a few emails, text from Ruby... voicemail from a random number? Who got her number? Her mind goes back to the cafe, and she finds herself double-checking the locks on her door. 

Alex cautiously hits play and puts her phone to her ear. "Hello, Alex Reagan?" the voice of an older-sounding woman says. "This is June Jacobson- Coralee's mother. Please give me a call."

Screw playing it safe.

Alex immediately calls the number back. The phone rings once, she takes one last swig of wine, the phone rings twice, then that wonderful sound of someone picking up. "Hello?" a gruff, distinctively male voice says.

"Um, hi is June Jacobson there?" Alex says. "This is Alex Reagan. I'm calling her back about-"

"Dammit, I told her not to call you," the man mutters. Before Alex can respond, she hears him yell, "June! It's her!"

The brief scuffle of feet gives Alex only a moment to realize she's on the phone with  _Coralee Strand's parents_. She's on the phone with Coralee Strand's parents, and she's not recording- _shit_. Alex practically sprints to her purse and grabs her recorder, nearly slamming it down next to her phone.

Right when she hits the record button, she hears a familiar voice say, "Alex!"

"Hi, Mrs. Jacobson," Alex says. Is she breathy? Alex hopes the recording doesn't pick that up. "I take it that's Mr. Jacobson with you?"

"Lawrence," the man -Lawrence- says. Between the two Jacobsons, Lawrence sounds like the type of person who would slam his front door in a reporter's face while June sounds like the type of person who'd invite them in for coffee.

"You don't need to be so rude," June admonishes her husband. "Alex, thank you so much for getting in touch. We heard about your radio show-" _Is no one ever going to realize it's a podcast?_ "Do you have any new evidence?"

Alex frowns. "I'm sorry? Mrs. Jacobson-"

"Please, call me June," she says.

"June, I..." Alex sighs. She's trying to sound as gentle as possible, but there's no other way to break the truth to Coralee's parents. "I think there's been a misunderstanding. I'm not investigating your daughter's disappearance."

"But you talked about it," June says with more surprise than hurt. "On your show."

"Yes, it's a pretty big event in Strand's life so I'm weaving in elements of the case," Alex says. "When they're relevant at least," she adds.

"How is the disappearance of Coralee not relevant?" June says.

"It is."

"Then what? You're just bringing up our daughter's murder when it's most  _convenient_ for you?" Lawrence says angrily.

"No, I- that's not what I'm doing." The Jacobsons are silent. Alex has to fill the dead space with _something_ before she loses them. "I didn't mean to- I'm not trying to cheapen your daughter's-"

" _Coralee_. Her name is Coralee," Lawrence says. 

Alex closes her eyes and gives herself a second to breathe. They're parents. If someone interviewed her mom, Alex doesn't doubt she'd act the same way. "Yes. Coralee. June, Lawrence, I am so sorry for your loss-"

"He  _murdered_ her!" Lawrence interrupts. Alex can hear the pain, the loss, the uncertainty in his voice. "If there's anyone who should be sorry, it's him. The bastard did it, and we all know it."

"We don't know that, Lawrence," June says.

"Wait, do you not think Strand murdered Coralee?" Alex asks.

"Of course _I_ do," Lawrence says. "Who else would have the motive? Once he heard about the divorce, he probably went-"

"Wait, divorce?"

"Richard and Coralee were having some marital trouble," June explains. "We knew Coralee was looking for a lawyer, and they'd already had disagreements about having more children."

"Did Coralee want children?"

"Children of her own, yes," June says. "She loves Charlie, of course, but Coralee wanted so much to have a biological child."

Charlie. Strand's biological child, but not Coralee's. Alex's efforts to get in touch with her have been unsuccessful. "Have you spoken with Charlie?"

"She doesn't want to be involved," Lawrence says bluntly. "And frankly, neither do we."

"But _I_ don't think Coralee's dead!" June says.

There's one direction Alex didn't expect her story to turn.

If there is anyone Alex expected to be convinced of Strand's guilt, it would be Coralee's parents. June's confession rings with the same pain of her husband's, but she seems to have taken that pain and infused it with hope. Hope that her daughter might still be alive instead of despair that she's dead. "What do you mean when you say you don't think Coralee's dead?" Alex asks June.

"Richard is... rough around the edges, but he isn't a murderer. The way he behaved at the trial was appalling, but I don't think he behaved that way out of guilt," June says. "I can't be sure though. He won't talk to us. We've sent him letters, but he never writes back. I think he's ashamed."

"Why do you say that?"

"Back in '91, a few months after Richard and Coralee got married, we took a road trip down to San Diego and got lost. Richard thought he'd brought a map, but it turns out we'd left it at home! So there we were on the side of the road, in the middle of nowhere, nearly out of gas, and trying to flag down the first car we saw! And it was 95 degrees outside!" June laughs, clearly remembering a story that Alex was never a part of. "Anyways, the three of us -me, Lawrence, and Coralee- we treated the whole thing like it was a grand adventure. But Richard... shut down."

"How so?"

"He sat in the car. Just staring out the window. Lawrence tried coaxing him out, but Richard-" June takes a shudder of a breath "-Richard snapped at him. Said he needed to be alone and if Lawrence didn't leave he'd- he would- god, Richard said-"

"-he'd start the car and flatten us on the pavement," Lawrence finishes.

Somehow, that does and doesn't surprise Alex at the same time. 

"Alex, you've talked to Richard. He's the type of person who likes to know everything. The one who always has to be right. When that doesn't happen, he withdraws. He lashes out. I think when Coralee disappeared, he did the same thing he did on our trip," June says. "Alex, if you can get anything out of him, you need to. For our sake. For _her_ sake."

Alex looks to her notes on the Charlesworth black tape. "I want to help. I really do. But Strand and I have an agreement not to discuss Coralee. Unfortunately, I'm not in a position to break that agreement."

"Will you at least look into it?" June says. She sounds so hopeful. Even after nearly twenty years of being told her daughter's dead.

Alex sighs. She can't say no. Both as a journalist and as a decent human being. "If I find anything new, I promise I will investigate further."

"We have something!" June says hastily, like she's scared Alex will hang up any second now. "Something new!"

"June, the police said that wasn't-"

"I know it was her!" June's voice is resolute. "I _know_ it was."

"What was?" Alex says.

"A couple years ago, we got a postcard. From Coralee."

* * *

Back in the PNWS building, Alex grabs an old cork board from their storage room. After clearing a wall in her office, she nails the cork board up on the wall. She then takes a single piece of paper and tacks it up on the cork board.

The photograph of a postcard from Big Arm, Montana stares back at her with a simple message on it.  _Thinking_ _of you_. No signature. No return address. Looking at the postcard, Alex almost feels like the message is directed toward her instead of the Jacobsons. Alex then takes another photograph with a sample of Coralee's handwriting and tacks it underneath the postcard. 

She steps back to inspect her handiwork. The two photographs are dwarfed by a sea of blank space. Alex thinks this has to be the flimsiest evidence board anyone's ever put together.

It's not much. But it's something new.


	6. Old Friends

_Her wrist is broken._

_Correction, it's breaking. She can feel the bone crack as she thrashes against the hand holding her down. He won't be able to stop her. None of them will. Her back arches, and she lets a guttural scream like the darkness is trying to claw itself out. She can_ feel  _it. A black, scorching liquid that coats her insides, screaming to ooze out, to infect every single person in the room. She can't hold it in anymore she can't she just can't she CAN'T-_

"Ms. Reagan?"

Alex blinks and she's back in the waiting room. "Sorry, I-" She yawns. "I had a hard time going to sleep last night."

The young orderly smiles out of politeness. "Right this way." Alex follows him, hoping he can't see the blush creeping into her cheeks. How can she tell a stranger that the video of a possessed little girl thrashing against four grown men back kept her up all night?

Then again, maybe that's not such a surprise for someone who works here.

Against Strand's advice, Alex is in the Three Rivers State Hospital. An administrator named Fred Barnes called her about helping one of their patients. A man -no, a kid- named Simon Reese. Incredibly, that's not the first time Alex has heard the name; PNWS covered his case back in 2008 for their false imprisonment story. Alex remembers reading about the case back in '08, and refreshing herself on the details now is no less discomforting than it was then.

When she asked Strand why he wasn't interested, the question splintered off into a discussion about the focus of the podcast, "I just want to make sure you're accurately representing me and my work," he says.

"Do you feel as though I'm not?" she asks.

"Ruby's been getting letters."

"Isn't that her _job_?"

Deep down, Alex knew Strand wouldn't take her wry response very well. It had just been such a long day. "She's been getting letters asking about  _me_. Not my cases, not my research, my personal, _private_  life, and yes, _that includes my dead wife_ ,"Strand growls. "Not to mention the recent interview you aired with her parents if you can even call that-"

"You listen to the show?" Alex says.

"I have a lot of time to spare. Of  _course_ I listen to the show."

"I didn't think you had access to the Internet."

"Ruby burns me CDs- that's not the point!" he says. "Ms. Reagan, I've entrusted you with my professional reputation. If these letters indicate the kind of people who are attracted to your show, then perhaps you need to rethink what you're broadcasting."

That sets something off in Alex. Strand requesting not to discuss Coralee, she could abide by. Strand asking her to maintain focus on his work, fair enough. But Strand _ordering_  her what to broadcast? "Dr. Strand, I can't dictate who does and doesn't listen to the show. If that bothers you, I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do," Alex says, never raising her voice and doing a damn good job maintaining a professional tone. "If you want to help me broadcast more casework, look at the notes on Simon Reese I sent you."

Her forced professionalism only riles Strand up even further. "All I am asking is that you don't sensationalize the most degrading moments of my life. And I want nothing to do with Simon Reese. Goodbye."

She could practically hear him slam the phone down when he hung up. To be fair, Strand has a point. Ever since getting the postcard from June, Coralee has seeped more and more into recent episodes. Alex did promise the Jacobsons to include any new evidence she found.

Of course, there's a distinction between new evidence and  _good_ evidence.

Maybe that's why she agreed to do the Simon Reese story. A change in scenery not only from Coralee but also Strand. They haven't spoken since last week. This story is entirely her own.

Still, when the orderly leads her into Simon's room, her first thought is _Strand will want to see this_.

A black charcoal mural covers one of Simon's walls. As she snaps pictures of the drawing with her phone, Alex asks the orderly, "So Trent's room has a similar drawing?"

The orderly looks at the mural with a mixture of awe and fear. "I wouldn't call it 'similar.'"

And he's right. The mural in Trent's room matches Simon's right down to the angles and numbers. Almost like... two sides of the same door. Or a portal. But that's not possible. Right?

Her interview with Simon gives her more questions than answers. "Hi Simon," Alex says to the teenaged boy sitting across from her. "Dr. Barnes said it was all right for me to ask you a few questions. How are you?"

"You're with Strand."

"Excuse me?"

Simon's brown eyes bore into her. Her grandfather used to talk about eyes like Simon's. He used to say there were two types of eyes: eyes that were windows into the soul and eyes that could see into other people's souls. Simon definitely has the latter. "You have a connection to Strand."

"That's true," Alex says calmly. "Dr. Strand and I work together-"

"Strand and I have a connection," he says. "But a different one from yours."

"How are you connected, Simon?"

Simon gingerly traces imaginary shapes on the table with his finger. "We make sacrifices. Take the blame. Embrace the things people say about us." He starts to trace a circle. "You want to ask me. I know you do."

Alex never anticipated bringing Strand into their interview, but since Simon brought it up, she might as well ask. "Simon, do you think he murdered Coralee Strand?"

Simon's finger stops mid-circle, and he looks up at her. "Do you?"

* * *

Alex doesn't know what to make of Simon Reese. Even on her drive home, she doesn't know whether to believe him or not. All Alex wants is to take a nap in her office. So naturally, life makes sure she doesn't get that. She hits more traffic than anticipated on the way, which puts her behind for her scheduled phone call with Strand. By the time she gets back to PNWS, she's five minutes behind. She finds Nic lingering in the front office. "Hey, Alex-"

"Nic, hey, did Strand call?" Before he can answer, she's already booking it to her office. "Nevermind, I'll just check myself."

Nic trails behind her. "Actually, I wanted to let you know before you-"

"Also, have we gotten any hits on that algorithm you set up?" Alex asks as she turns the knob on her door. "I was thinking we should add 'Coralee Jacobson' to the list of key terms, just in case-"

"Hello, Alexandra."

Alex freezes.

There are only two people who call Alex by her full name, and her mom doesn't have a Russian accent.

"Hi, Amalia."

She's sitting on top of Alex's desk like it's her own. Her raven hair is longer than the last time Alex saw her, but otherwise she looks the same. Same heels. Same smirk. Same mystifying shade of purple lipstick. Alex knows because she labored days to get that lipstick stain out of her shirt. "You're looking well," she says. Her gaze drifts lazily to Nic. "You too, Nicodemus."

Nic's face turns scarlet. "I gotta, um... work on some sound mixing." Alex turns to him, begging silently for some backup, but he mouths  _Sorry!_ and darts down the hallway.

Alex reluctantly enters her office. She contemplates shutting the door, but she remembers what happened last time she and Amalia were alone in her office when she shut the door. "So what brings you back to Seattle?" Alex says.

"A story," Amalia replies. "Not a particularly exciting one, but it gave me a chance to stop by Seattle to see how my two favorite reporters were doing. How _are_ you doing, Alexandra?"

"Good. Very good. I'm just working on... stuff. Work stuff. Lots of work stuff." Alex wants to smack herself. What  _else_ would she be doing? Why does she always forget how to use the English language whenever Amalia's around?

Amalia picks up one of the black tapes on Alex's desk. "This is what you're working on, yes? Your 'black tapes'?"

"Yes."

"And what is it like working the good doctor? Is he as stubborn as his trial painted him to be?" Amalia says.

"Strand keeps his guard up. He sent me a bundle of tapes to look at- I think that's the demon board tape you're holding." Alex moves toward Amalia, intending to grab the tape from her and put it back. "I've been trying to figure out how to order them..."

But then Amalia puts her hand over Alex's.

"Alexandra, I hope there's no animosity between us," Amalia says softly. It's the same voice she used when... a shiver goes through Alex, and she forces herself to shake the memory out of her head. "I consider you a good friend. I couldn't have gotten through those two months in Seattle without you, and I shouldn't have left so suddenly. But I think it's for the better that we keep our relationship platonic."

If Amalia slammed Alex down on her desk right now and ripped her clothes off, she wouldn't stop her.

Alex removes her hand. "I completely agree. It's better we keep our professional and our personal lives separate," she says, forcing a smile.

Amalia smiles warmly. That's what always gets Alex about Amalia. Every time Alex thinks she's frozen herself through, finally has Amalia out of her system, the second Amalia is interested in her again, she feels herself thawing. "I'm so happy you understand. So tell me about these new cases..."

And just like that, Alex melts.

* * *

Alex ends up having a great, 100% professional talk with Amalia about the black tapes. It's not quite the same as discussing them with Strand; Amalia does much more listening than challenging. But being able to just talk about the cases for once with someone so engaged feels nice. Amalia even offers to look into Saransk Abbey when she gets back to Russia for a follow-up on Keith Dabic and the Unsound.

They hug before Amalia leaves. Alex can't deny the sensation of Amalia's arms around her waist again isn't a pleasant one. "I'll see you soon, Alexandra," Amalia whispers in her ear.

She's whispered more sensual things in her ear, but Alex still gets goosebumps.

Once Amalia's gone, Alex practically collapses into her desk chair. She's taking that nap, and nothing in this world can stop her.

Her office phone rings.

Except that.

She picks up, and it's exactly who she thought it might be. "I apologize for the lateness," Strand says.

"I almost thought you weren't going to call."

"Yes, well.... what's going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"You sound tired."

Wow. She must sound as tired as she looks. "Bad night. Don't worry about it."

And maybe it's the effects of sleep deprivation, but Richard Strand almost sounds like he cares. "I'm sorry to hear that." Alex hears a rustle of papers. "Anyways, I did some research of my own into the Simon Reese case, and I'll admit, I see some potential. The case itself is pretty cut and dry-"

"You think Simon killed his parents?"

"I do," Strand says. "If we're going by the rule of parsimony, the most obvious answer is usually the right one. Simon's case doesn't get any more obvious than this. But I do find his post-trial behavior interesting."

"How so?"

"His selective mutism for starters. It's not uncommon for people to stop talking after a traumatic event..." A couple months ago, Alex would have found Strand's vigorous dedication to his research exhausting, but today's it's a wonderful return to normal. Or what's become normal for her anyway. She curls up in her chair and listens contently to his voice talking about the varying effects of trauma like she's listening to an audiobook. "What I'm curious to know is what spurred Simon to start speaking again."

"You should have seen his room," Alex adds. "There was this drawing on the wall with numbers and symbols and maybe a pentagram in the middle? I can't tell, but it was kind of eerie. I'll send you pictures."

"That would be helpful. However, as discomforting as the drawing might be, keep in mind this kid could very well have gotten it off the Internet."

"Simon doesn't have access to the Internet."

Strand huffs out a laugh. "Trust me, if Simon wanted Internet access bad enough, he could get Internet access. Speaking of, did you get a chance to-" There's the sound a door opening followed by the clicking of heels. "Alan, who is this?" Strand says to someone else. Presumably a guard.

"Richard Strand?" a stern female voice says.

"Excuse me?" Strand says.

"I'm Detective Rosa Alvarez with the Los Gatos Police Department. We’re gonna need you to come with us," the voice says.

 _Something happened_. 

"Dr. Strand? What’s going on?" As Alex's mind is racing, her cell phone goes off. 

"I’m in the middle of a phone call right now," he says to the woman named Rosa. "I’m certain whatever business you have with me can wait."

"Believe me, Dr. Strand, it can't."

Alex thinks she hears Strand get up. Or maybe Rosa walking toward him. Or the guard- _dammit, why is her phone ringing again?_  "Dr. Strand, why is she there?"

Strand speaks faster, more urgently than before. "I don't know, Alex. Once I get back, we can- hey! I'm not done-"

There's a click, and the line goes dead. "Dr. Strand? Dr. Strand?" Her cell phone goes off a third time, and this time, a very frazzled Alex picks up. "Hello?"

"Am I speaking to Alex Reagan?" a male voice says, just as stern-sounding as the female from Strand's call.

"Yes. What's going on?" Alex says.

"This is Chief Stan Colins with the Los Gatos Police Department. We need you to come down to the station and answer a few questions. It's urgent."

Her grip on her cell phone tightens. "Urgent? How so?" God, her voice is in interview mode, and she hates it.

"Sebastian Torres went missing last night."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck canon, Alex gets the hot Russian ex. That's all I have to say.


	7. New Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning I spilled tea on my laptop mousepad so I typed parts of this on my phone. Sorry for any typos!

When Alex arrives at the Los Gatos police station, she has to keep her hands in her pockets so the police can't see them shaking. Even when Chief Colins sits her down in his office and tells her she hasn't broken the law, her hands still shake. Officers pop in and out of his office as they talk, grave expressions on their faces, providing even the smallest updates on Sebastian's potential whereabouts. While literal and figurative storm clouds gather over the station, Alex goes over every detail of her interactions with the Torres family. Alex tells Chief Colins yes, she interviewed Sebastian, no, she didn't think the podcast would attract religious nutjobs, no, she didn't realize her show's impact on Sebastian's safety.

By the time Chief Colins lets her go, her hands do stop shaking. But Alex leaves his office feeling like she's done something horribly,  _horribly_ wrong.

She's trying to find her way out of the station and does a double-take when she turns a hallway and sees Strand in person. He’s sitting on a bench in handcuffs and leg irons, flanked by two police officers. His mouth is set into a hard line, and he glares back and forth between the two police officers.

Alex tentatively slips onto the bench across from him. "So what are you in for?" she says.

And despite the gray cloud over Strand’s head, despite the dire mood in the police station, they both bust out laughing. "I see they’ve roped you into this too," he says.

"I'm sure they're just following any leads they might have." Alex catches sight of Robert and Maria Torres talking to the Chief Colins, and her smile fades. "A child is missing."

He sees the Torreses, and his tone turns somber. "Yes. I don’t know how they think we can help."

“Because you two know more about the Torres family's predicament than anyone else in this building." Alex and Strand look up into the face of tall man who looks to be around Strand's age. He smiles at Alex, the corners of his eyes crinkling warmly. "Ms. Reagan, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Are you _fucking_ kidding me?"

Her mouth drops. There are a thousand and one phrases Alex can imagine coming out of Strand's mouth, and  _Are you fucking kidding me?_ doesn't come close to making that list.

The man seems unfazed. "It’s a pleasure to see you too, Richard."

Alex looks at the two men, one of them on the verge of tackling the other. "Dr. Strand, do you know this person?"

Despite the handcuffs, Strand manages to gesture flippantly to the man before her. "Alex, this is Tannis Braun. A 'psychic,'" he says with air quotations. He utters the word like it'll poison him.

Even with Strand's frosty demeanor, Braun still radiates the same warmth he showed Alex. "Richard, I know you and I don't see eye-to-eye on most things-"

"Anything."

Braun gazes at Strand like he's trying to appease a temperamental child rather than a colleague. " _But_ I think we can put our differences aside in circumstances like this one."

"Why the hell are you here?" Strand demands.

"I'm here to help," Braun says. And Alex believes him. Which makes Strand's hostile reaction towards him even more confusing. "Which is also why  _you're_ here. Chief Colins has cleared you-" He indicates toward Alex. "-the _both_ of you to aide in our search for Sebastian."

"And do I not get a say in this?" Strand says indignantly.

"We may be able to help," Alex interjects.

Strand scoffs. "I am not working with this charlatan. We've told you everything we know. There's no point in dragging us along."

"I have to politely disagree," Braun says. "The Torreses are convinced you two might have better insight into where there child might be. Richard, I thought you of all people would understand the vitality of a missing persons case."

"'You of all people?'" Strand snaps. "Do  _not_ impose your high and mighty-"

 _"Richard_." Strand looks at Alex, just as surprised as she is. Clearly this is a day for firsts. "If they think we can help, _we need to help_ ," she says. She doesn't mean to sound so intense, so desperate, but the image of Robert and Maria Torres lingers in her head.

And maybe somewhere in Strand's too. He hangs his head, voice low. "Fine. But I'm not speaking to him."

* * *

Alex rides with Braun while Strand rides sullenly in a cop car. The ride to Portola State Park gives Alex the chance to interview Braun about his career along with his relation to Strand. "To be honest, Richard and I haven't interacted very much," Braun says. "Our work obviously reached one other, and we would debate at paranormal conferences every now and then. Otherwise, Richard was somewhat of a loner. I'd try and extend an invitation to lunch or coffee, and he'd never respond. Today was actually the first time I'd seen him in person since his incarceration."

Something isn't adding up for Alex. Braun talks about Strand more like an old friend that he drifted apart from rather than his mortal enemy. "I noticed Strand had a rather... livid response to seeing you. Is there a particular reason why?" Alex asks.

He laughs. His laugh is deeper and heartier than Strand's huffs. "'Livid.' You have quite a way with words, Ms. Reagan," he says. He thinks on her question. "If I had to guess, I'd say it has something to do with Coralee."

Of course. It all comes back to Coralee.

Braun pulls off the road into the visitors' lot of Portola State Park. "I offered my services when the police were still searching for her. Richard, being the faithful skeptic he is, didn't care for my assistance in the investigation."

His grip on the wheel tightens so subtly Alex almost doesn't catch it. He maintains the easygoing smile and the pleasant tone, but there's something beneath his wording that she finds suspicious. _Didn't care for my assistance_. A simple phrase teasing a story that Alex is only getting bits and pieces of. How did Strand intervene? At what point did Braun stop searching? If whatever happened between Braun and Strand stings so fresh in Strand's mind, how skewed is Braun's perspective?

And more importantly, which side is telling her the entire story?

But the other cop cars pull up before she can ask any of those questions. Braun is already getting out of the car, and Alex barely manages to catch him for her wrap-up. "One last question," she says. "Do you think he murdered Coralee Strand?"

Braun stares thoughtfully out into the trees. "That is a question only Richard can answer."

* * *

The search for Sebastian Torres begins with storm clouds looming overhead. Braun goes off with Chief Colins and offers Alex a chance to join them, but she opts to stay with Strand.

Which is easier in theory. In compliance with state law, five officers accompany Strand, and he can't walk unrestrained. How he's supposed to do any searching in the midst of such an elaborate procession, Alex doesn't know. She manages to worm her way past the officers guarding Strand so she can walk next to him. She can see the way the younger officers sneak astonished looks at Strand, like they're escorting Hannibal Lecter instead of a real person. Even Alex feels scrutinized, and she's not the one in handcuffs. "Have you seen anything yet?" Alex asks Strand.

"Other than trees? No."

She can't help glancing at Strand's wrists. There's a ring of raw red skin forming around each of them. "Do those hurt?"

Strand knowingly raises his hands. "These? I've had tighter ones."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"Yes. They do."

"So why is there so much tension between you and Braun?" He starts to speak, but then Alex adds, "And don't say it's because he's a believer and you aren't because I can tell it's something more."

Strand bristles and sighs, like he does over the phone whenever Alex asks him a challenging question. Only seeing the way his mouth twists into a frown and his hands ball up into fists gives her a brutally clear picure of what's going through his head than his voice alone. "Braun tried to find Coralee. When they were still searching," he says solemnly. He stares blankly ahead, like he's back in 1997 and his life is falling apart. "He deduced that she was dead."

_Oh._

Alex feels like she should say something. But what can she possibly say to that?

"I'm... I'm so sorry."

He looks to the storm clouds with a quiet, resigned bitterness.

"Everyone was sorry at first."

They continue their search in silence. Strand moves... slowly. The smallest noises -leaves rustling, twigs snapping- startle him. His feet touch the earth like he's not entirely convinced it's real. He's undoubtedly looking, but all the stimuli that barely fazes Alex is on the verge of overwhelming him. Was this the real reason why Strand was so hesitant to join the search? If they were anywhere else, in any different situation, she'd sit him down and ask if he needed a second to breathe. But here? She doubts the officers would approve.

Regardless, the silence isn't good for either her or Strand. "If Braun is a fraud like you say, why do you think the police keep hiring him?" Alex says.

Strand grabs on to her lifeline of a question immediately. "Because Braun is an exceptional detective. He didn't start successfully locating missing persons until the late nineties. Coincidentally, when Internet search engines started gaining popularity. A lot of his alleged 'psychic' abilities are just good deduction and knowing where to.." Strand trails off as the first drops of rain land.

Alex, not noticing Strand has stopped walking, turns around when she realizes he's no longer next to her. "Dr. Strand?"

"Sorry. It’s just..." He holds his hand out as far as the cuffs will let him, letting the rain hit his palm. He stares at the drops with wide-eyed wonder. "It’s been a long time."

For a brief second, he looks twenty years younger.

Alex lets him have his moment. Then the rainfall steadies, and he's back to the prickly middle-aged skeptic she knows. They quietly pick up the search again. Strand said Braun was a good detective. If that's true... did he accurately deduce Coralee was dead? And why did he avoid answering her question about Strand's guilt in the car?

"Let's go this way." Strand points to an indistinct space between two trees.

"Okay... why?" Alex asks.

He shrugs. "Why not?"

Can't argue with that. Alex, Strand, and Strand's entourage of police officers veer off to the right. The rain starts to pick up, accompanied by a harsh wind. Alex shivers beneath her windbreaker. "They'll have to call the search off if this gets any worse."

Strand doesn't say anything, letting the rain hit him with little regard to how cold it is. His blue eyes pierce through the trees, even bluer against the gray sky. His pace quickens, throwing everyone including Alex for a loop, then suddenly he comes to a halt. He kneels down and brushes away the leaves, revealing a clean patch of dirt. "There's a path here," he says. "And someone didn't want anyone to find it."

Alex stares at the path in awe. "How did you...?"

"Drug dealers do the same thing when making their routes," Strand says like that's common knowledge. He stands and starts on the newfound path. Everyone follows, almost spellbound. Alex can't figure out how Strand noticed that path, especially in the rain.

They walk for a solid twenty minutes, the downpour getting heavier and heavier by the minute. The officers are on the verge of turning back when they stumble into a clearing.

A clearing with an old, dilapidated cabin.

An officer immediately calls for backup. Alex starts to approach the cabin when Strand says, "Wait."

She looks back at him. "Why?"

"You don't know what's in there."

Braun and Chief Colin's enter the clearing. "Then let's find out together," Alex says to Strand. He looks between Braun, the cabin, then Alex and nods. She pushes against the rotting wooden door and they enter a one-room cabin decorated with familiar drawings.

And right in middle of the cabin sits Sebastian Torres, alive, unharmed, and looking like he's been waiting for his mom to pick him up from school this entire time.

"Oh my god," Alex murmurs.

Sebastian smiles at her. "Hello, Alex!"

Braun and Chief Colins enter right behind them, Braun repeats what Alex said, and Chief Colins rushes to escort Sebastian out of the cabin.

As he's leaving, Sebastian points to Strand. "Who’s he?"

Braun says, "Don’t worry about him-"

"He’s a friend," Alex interrupts.

Sebastian waves innocently at Strand before getting swept into Robert and Maria Torres' arms. Like unleashing a floodgate, the one-room cabin suddenly crowds with police officers. Then Chief Colins steps in and the police get to work taping the crime scene off. In the midst of the hectic reunion, Alex switched into journalism mode and starts snapping pictures of the drawings on the walls. She glimpses a pale-faced Braun quietly exiting the cabin.

In the corner of the cabin, Strand stands, unseen and forgotten by nearly everyone there. Alex barely sees him.

* * *

Braun, Alex, and Strand return to the parking lot and end up waiting for the rest of the squadron to get back. While Braun jots down notes of his own, Alex and Strand look over her photographs. The drawing undoubtedly matches the one in Sebastian's room. And the numbers remind her of the ones she saw in Simon Reese's room. Alex plans to follow up with Simon while Strand researches more of what he referred to as, "sacred geometry."

Work done, they settle into a comfortable silence while they wait. Then rather abruptly Strand states, "You said I was a friend."

Alex looks up at him. "We are, aren’t we? Friends?"

As they lean side by side against a cop car, the officers surrounding them, the self-proclaimed psychic at his car, and the Torres family by the ambulance all fade into the background. If Alex lets the edges of her vision blur, she can almost pretend they're not even there. It's just her and Strand. And Alex knows the guilt balled up in her stomach is less her worrying about breaking journalistic ethics and more feeling bad going behind Strand's back. She needs to find out what happened to Coralee Strand... but she remembers the quietly suppressed pain in Strand's face when he brought up Braun's involvement. She doesn't want to be the cause of that pain.

Isn't that the way you're supposed to feel when hurting a friend?

Their eyes meet, like two magnets locking into place. And with a single look Alex knows he feels as intimately alone with her as she does with him. "I suppose we are," he says like a revelation.

Yes. Friends.

It's a new idea for the both of them. Strand's first friend in eight years. Alex's first friend with a criminal record.

She likes this new idea.

"Mr. Strand?" a fresh-faced officer says, yanking Alex and Strand back into the real world. "It's time to go."

Everything after that happens so quickly. Alex barely manages a goodbye before the officer grabs Strand and starts leading him away. He manages to turn back and say, "I'll call you Friday," before the officer loads him into the back of a cop car.

Alex cups her hands around her mouth and yells, "Dr. Strand!" He looks out the window, meeting her eyes one last time. "You did a good thing today."

He smiles. Not very big and not very long, but enough for Alex to see before the cop car pulls away. Police officers swarm the parking lot, but Alex doesn't care. A feeling of warmth envelops her like a cocoon.

That feeling follows her all the way back to Seattle.

The drive back has her thinking about the question Simon Reese asked her. Does _she_ think he murdered Coralee Strand? She's been so busy focusing on Strand's career, the tapes, and the overall narrative of her show that she hasn't contemplated that question herself. If he did, does that change their shakily newfound friendship? And if he didn't... shouldn't she try and help him? Or should she just drop the Coralee investigation entirely? Settle for the guilty verdict. Thousands of people maintain friendships with inmates. This is undoubtedly what Strand would want. But is this what _she_ wants? Phone calls and letters and the occasional heavily secured visitation?

It's not. Deep down Alex knows that. 

When she returns to PNWS, she has a new voicemail. _"I have a message for Alex Reagan. I don’t know why you’re digging dirt up on my family, but if you could fuck off, that’d be great._

_..._

_This is Charlie Strand, by the way."_


	8. Charlie

Charlie Strand does not have her father's eyes.

They're bigger. More expressive. Instead of cool blue, they're warm hazel. While her father's eyes can never stay on one spot for too long, Charlie's eyes lock on to a person and stay there no matter how uncomfortable it gets. But they're not entirely devoid of similarities. Charlie has the same brown hair as her father minus the gray. She has the same tall, slender figure. Both of them rarely smile.

And neither is keen on talking about Coralee Strand's disappearance.

Alex suggests meeting in a cafe, but Charlie insists on a bar. At four in the afternoon. When Alex arrives, Charlie is already there in a booth, nursing a vodka cranberry like a shield. "I'm not an alcoholic," is the first thing she says as Alex sits down.

"I didn't assume you were," Alex says, setting her recorder down on the table.

"I know what this looks like, me wanting to do this here- and there was wine involved in that voicemail." Charlie's face scrunches up in embarrassment, causing her to take a sip of her drink. "Shit. I'm turning into my mom."

"Your real mother or...?"

Charlie snaps, "Coralee! God. I didn't even meet that girl my father hooked up with in college until _I_ was out of college. " She looks down into her drink. To calm herself, she takes her straw and stirs it around. "I guess I already have a better track record than my father. Not pregnant. No criminal record." Charlie laughs to herself, echoing the same huff her father does. "I wonder if he's proud of me."

"Have you recently spoken with your father?" Alex says.

Charlie continues to stir, watching the ice swirl around in her glass. "Technically, he's not even my father."

"You got emancipated at sixteen, correct?"

She stops stirring. "Wow, did you also get my social security number while you were at it?" Charlie says sharply. As soon as she lashes out, she withdraws, taking another sip of her drink. "I'm sorry. I must seem like a total asshole to you. Am I as bad as him?"

"You aren't bothering me, Charlie."

"You can be honest," she says. "When I lost my first tooth, my father told me the tooth fairy wasn't real and made me wash it down the sink."

Alex blinks. "Wow." The Dr. Strand she knows today sounds just as cynical as the Dr. Strand from his daughter's childhood. She shouldn't be surprised but _still_. "That's... terrible."

"That's my father," Charlie says with a mocking smile. "When he's not being a total asshole, he's remarkably obtuse. We haven't spoken since his arrest."

"So you've been estranged for eighteen years?"

Charlie sighs. "Fuck. I didn't realize it had been that long. I do send him cards. On Christmas. And his birthday. I think that's more than enough. And I didn't estrange myself from my father, my father estranged himself from _me_."

Her statement rings... odd. Charlie Strand chose not to attend her father's trial. In fact, she chose not to speak at all to the press. There's a single video of her during the trial from _Closing Arguments_ , hosted by Nancy Grace. Alex found the clip on Youtube. The grainy 1997 clip shows a teenaged Charlie rushing into her car, bombarded by reporters. One of the reporters manages to shove a microphone at her. She whips around and asks what the hell they want her to say. The reporter asks Charlie if she thinks her father murdered Coralee.

Her response? _I don't have a father anymore_.

"What do you mean when you say your father estranged himself from you?" Alex says.

Now Charlie forgoes the straw and downs the rest of her drink in one swig. "Do you want one of these?" she asks Alex.

"No thank you."

She laughs. Bitterly. "You're gonna want one."

Two vodka cranberries later, Charlie Strand begins her story at the end of it. "When my father went to prison, I wrote him every day. I even tried to visit. But he didn't respond to a single letter, and when I turned twenty-one, I finally gave up. Do you have _any_ idea how that feels? How painful it is to have your dad-" She stops herself, takes a second to breathe. Her breaths come out shaky, like she's trying not cry. "The day the police caught up to us, he just forgot I even existed."

"You were with him the day of his arrest?" How come Alex couldn't find that information? Why wasn't that brought up during the trial?

Charlie shoots her a knowing glare. "I don't have some big break in the case. God, this is why I hate talking to reporters!" she says. "I was with him for a day. The last day. I was walking to school when he pulled up in his car and told me to get in so I did."

"What made you get in the car?"

"Because he was still my father," Charlie says like the answer is obvious. "And I'd spent the last four days freaking out. He was the first person who seemed to know what to do. He always did."

"What happened after that?"

"We drove. On back roads mostly- we might have been driving through Washington, but I honestly have no idea. We didn't talk a lot. I kept trying to ask questions. 'Where was Mom?' 'Where have you been?' 'Where are we going?' A lot of wheres, I guess. The closest thing I got to any kind of explanation was, 'Your mom's in trouble.' Not 'Your mom went missing, and I've been looking for her' or 'I didn't know what to do so I panicked and started driving.' You've met my father. He talks. A lot."  _Can_ he talk. Alex thinks of all his tangents she has on record from 19th century possession to music censorship in the eighties.

But there's a big difference between those and what Charlie's referring to. Strand _wanted_ to talk about those things. "We finally pulled over by some woods," Charlie continues. "He told me to wait in the car, and I asked why and he yelled at me to wait. My father _never_ yelled at me. Even when I crashed his car at a 7-Eleven, he didn't yell at me like that. It scared me enough to stay put. Then he got out and started walking into the woods. I tried to wait. I really did, but I just couldn't sit there not doing anything. So I followed him. We walked for awhile. Me and my parents would hike together; this wasn't that different. That's what I told myself anyways. The sun started going down when we got to the shack."

If this is going where Alex thinks it's going, they've reached the part of the story she and the rest of the world are familiar with. "Is this  _the_ shack?"

Charlie's eyes cloud over picturing the day of her father's arrest. "Yeah. That one," she says, her voice small and scared. She grabs her purse. "I'm sorry, I can't do this-"

She starts to leave, and panic flies through Alex. Charlie's her closest lead on what might have happened during Strand's disappearance. Alex gets up and gently grabs her shoulder. "Charlie, please stay."

Charlie yanks herself away. "Why? So you can have your  _story_?" she yells, oblivious to the startled patrons staring at their booth. "You have no idea what hell that was for me! How I had to go school and hear everyone whisper about my dad being a killer! Or how I couldn't even leave my grandparents' house without cutting through the neighbors' yards to avoid the news vans parked outside!" Charlie tries and fails to blink back tears, which only spurs her to raise her voice even louder. "And now, years after I've made a life for myself and finally stopped being known as 'Richard Strand's daughter' _you_ have to come out and dredge everything up again!"

Then the bartender's by their booth, grabbing Charlie by the arm and telling her she needs to keep her voice down or leave. She wipes away the tears, and shakes the bartender away. She tells him she's fine. He politely but cautiously leaves them alone. Charlie's voice is softer now, but just as angry. Just as hurt. "It's over, Alex. Move on. I have." She heads toward the door.

"I don't think he did it!" Alex says. Charlie stops dead in her tracks. Alex puts a hand over her mouth, but the thought she's tried so hard to push down has already slipped out.

It's as much of a revelation to her as it is to Charlie.

Charlie turns back to her, not coming back but not leaving either. "I-I don't have proof," Alex stammers. "I barely have any real evidence. But when I talk to Strand... in my gut, I don't feel like he's guilty."

"Can your 'gut' overturn a murder conviction?" Charlie says.

"No. But I have to try."

Charlie's face softens, and for the first time, Alex gets a glimpse of how Charlie may have been before she lost both her parents. Someone curious and carefree, whose biggest concern was how she would do on her SATs. Charlie warily returns to the booth and sits back down. Before starting up again, she takes one last swig of her drink. "I followed my father to a shack.  _The_ shack. I walked in, and I immediately saw dark stains everywhere. I didn't know it was blood until later. There was also graffiti all over the walls. Weird numbers and pentagrams and shit."

_Numbers and pentagrams?_

"Wait." Alex opens up her phone and hastily pulls up the pictures from the cabin they found Sebastian Torres in. "Charlie, did that graffiti look like _this_?"

Charlie scrolls through the photos, her face unreadable. "I think so. I'd have to see the shack again to be certain."

"Would you be okay doing that?" Alex asks. "And it's okay if you aren't. I won't pressure you."

Charlie shakes her head. "I'm not getting near that place ever again. I can give you directions though." She takes out a pen and paper and begins jotting them down as she continues her story. "So I see my father. On his knees in the middle the shack, practically catatonic. I tried to snap him out of it, but he just stared and stared at the walls. I eventually sat down next to him, and put my head his on shoulder like I was five again. He at least put his arm around me. Here." Charlie rips the paper out of her notepad and hands it to Alex. "We stayed like that until nightfall. Then we saw flashlights, and my father whispered, 'She's gone.'"

"'I'm assuming he meant Coralee?" Alex says.

Charlie shrugs. "I think so. I tried to ask, but he wouldn't speak again. Then the police busted into the shack, and that was the last time I ever saw my father."

She says it so unceremoniously, like a thing that just... _happened_. "Charlie, I am so sorry."

"What gets me most is he wouldn't _tell_ me anything," Charlie says. "I don't know how he found that shack or why he grabbed me, but I _know_ he's hiding something."

Without even realizing it, Charlie hit right on how Alex feels about Strand. More specifically, how she feels when he adamantly refuses to speak about Coralee. At first, she assumed it was too painful of a topic for him to talk about. But now hearing Charlie's account of how he acted with her, her and Strand's agreement feels more like his way of hiding something.

But what is he hiding from her? What's he hiding from Charlie? What has he been hiding from _everyone_?

Alex's phone goes off, startling the both of them. She apologizes for the interruption and sees a text from Nic.  _Found something on Coralee :O Get back!!_

She starts packing up her recording equipment. "I think we've recorded enough material. Thank you so much for doing this, Charlie. I know it wasn't easy."

"Do you really think you might be onto something?" Charlie asks.

Despite everything she's gone through, Charlie's voice still has that same hopeful tone Alex heard when she interviewed June Jacobson. She sounds like the sixteen-year old who at one time maybe believed her father could do no wrong, let alone kill her mom. It makes Alex wish she had a perfect yes or no answer. That she had something real and legitimate to go on. All she can hope is that the leads she's following make an actual difference.

But Charlie doesn't want to hear that.

"I think so."

Charlie purses her lips, thinking. "Okay." She fishes through her purse and pulls out a faded, wrinkled business card. She holds it out to Alex. "My father's lawyer told me to contact her if I found any more information."

"Charlie, are you sure you-"

"Please." Charlie's face is grave. Pleading. Pleading for closure. Progress. _Something._ Alex gingerly takes the card. The paper's grown soft from the years in Charlie's purse. "Do _not_ make me regret this," Charlie says.

She leaves Alex in the bar, their interaction almost feeling like a dream. The only proof of her presence are the business card and the two empty glasses. After looking at her own drink for a second, Alex downs the rest of it. She examines the faded gold text on the card.  _Melinda Hernandez_. There's a phone number below; she'll have to make sure it still works.

But first, she's itching to get back to the studio.

* * *

A beaming Nic adjusts the sound equipment for the third time since Alex got back. "I still can't believe you found this," Alex says.

"Honestly, it was 50% tech skills and 50% luck. Well... maybe 75% luck. That or I'm secretly a genius," Nic says. Alex laughs and playfully punches him the shoulder. He plugs in the speaker. "There. We should be good to go." 

And so Alex and Nic sit back, relax, and listen to the last known recording of Coralee Strand.

 _"I’d like to talk about love. My goal is to explore the role of love in a culture of disparity."_ Coralee sounds bright. Passionate. Her years of dedicated research show in the brief PNWS snippet on her thesis. Alex doesn't entirely know the scope of Coralee's work, but she explains the relation between monogamy and mating patterns in bees in a way that makes perfect sense.

She talks about her work... the same way Strand talks about his work.

"I can't believe this is really her," Alex murmurs.

This was the woman Strand married. The mother Charlie looked up to. The daughter that the Jacobsons raised. She had a life and a career and a family, and over the course of one road trip, all that vanished with her.

_"What if this is the key to a struggling marriage?"_

Why would Coralee say that?

 _"What if you need to go far away from your life, from your partner, from your husband?"_ Coralee ponders to an unseen audience. As she talks of marriage, a sense of unease builds up in Alex. Have the police heard this tape? Was Coralee and Richard's marriage deteriorating? Was that deterioration the reason for her disappearance?

_"Coralee?"_

A man's voice, unfamiliar.

_"Warren?"_

Then the tape cuts off, and Coralee's gone once again. Alex can't believe it. All along, in their own studio, they had something on Coralee, something with far more implications than Alex can untangle on her own. She's trying to focus on the content of the tape itself, but questions keep piling up in her brain about  _everything_. Questions about Coralee, questions about Strand, questions about their marriage, questions about Warren- _who the hell is Warren?_

But the biggest question? What if Richard Strand isn't the only Strand hiding something?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom! Charlie! Plot!


	9. Writing On the Walls

Alex never dated Amalia. Not officially.

But if she had to consider what their first "date" was, she would say the day of their first shared hangover. After a long night of drinking and very little sleeping, Amalia somehow coaxed Alex into going to a Russian arthouse _._ It couldn't have been far from her hotel, otherwise Alex would have stayed in bed all day. Amalia knew the projectionist and convinced him to let her run the projections for the day. The arthouse was doing a marathon of old Soviet-era films. So Amalia grabbed some blankets, Alex grabbed three bottles of wine, and together they cuddled up in the projectionist's booth for the entire day.

It wasn't the movies that Alex remembered. They were all in Russian with no subtitles, so she didn't know what was going on half the time anyways. What she remembers most is being alone with Amalia. They'd been alone before. In fact, they'd spent most of their time alone together. But that day in the arthouse was the first day they had each other's complete and undivided attention. No work. No meetings. With the eyes of the audience focused on the films, Alex felt like she could tell Amalia anything.

Talking to Amalia regularly again feels like that date.

Her voice is currently the only thing keeping Alex entertained for a three-hour drive to the border of Oregon. They talk about work. Mainly Alex's work. Amalia's stories are too controversial to get into. Alex doesn't mind; having someone to bounce ideas off of is nice. 

And unlike Strand, Alex doesn't have to hide anything from Amalia.

Amalia offers Alex her own advice regarding the Strand predicament. "The way I see it, your job comes first. You have to follow your leads, and it isn't Strand's place to object." 

"But he is a integral part of the show," Alex says.

"Alexandra, if Dr. Strand wants to produce his own show about paranormal research, he can do so. This is _your_ project. And I think you're doing wonderful." Amalia's words of encouragement provide Alex some comfort. But Amalia always has a way with words. "Anyways, enough about Strand. I've been looking into the Saransk Abbey, and I found a little something. Well, two somethings," Amalia says. "I'll give you a choice: do you want to hear about the abbey first or do you want to hear about the mysterious letter?"

Amazingly, Alex welcomes the chance to talk about potentially satanic monasteries. "They both sound so tempting. I think... I'll start with the mysterious letter- hold on." Alex grabs her recorder without even taking her eyes off the road and presses the record button. "Okay, we're recording. Go."

"You're so dedicated to your work," Amalia says playfully, making Alex blush. Then her tone turns serious. "So someone slipped a letter into my apartment while I was out. I don't know who, and the concierge saw no one suspicious. The letter said, 'We know what you are researching, we strongly suggest that you drop your investigation.'"

A letter? Alex thought that kind of thing only happened on crime shows. "That's... unsettling. Do you think they were talking about our research?"

"Potentially."

"You know, you don't have to do this. I'd rather you be safe than..."  _Missing_ _._ Amalia's told Alex about her brush-ins with Russian law enforcement.

"Has that ever stopped me before?" Amalia says.

Alex doesn't object. If Alex were in Amalia's shoes, she'd do the exact same thing. "Just be careful, okay?"

"Careful doesn't get me a good story," Amalia says. "But I will try. Now Saransk Abbey-"

Alex's phone beeps, indicating another phone call. "Hold on, I have another call coming in." Alex puts Amalia on hold and answers the new line. "Hello?"

"Alex."

Only one word, and she knows exactly who it is. "Dr. Strand? We’re not scheduled for another call until Friday."

"What the hell is this?" he says.

"I’m sorry?" She doesn't recall doing anything to particularly set Strand off. Nothing that's aired at least. She hears Strand wordlessly press a button, and then the sound of a tape recorder- her eyes widen. _The Coralee tape_. "How did you get that?"

"Through the mail. I have a mailbox. Maybe you’ve heard of it?" Strand says, viciously accusatory.

"Dr. Strand, I didn't send that tape to you," Alex says. Nic wouldn't have sent it either. "I mean- we found the audio, but we haven't shared it with anyone."

She can practically hear him rolling his eyes. "That's not the point. Someone with malicious intent- and I know it was malicious because they also left a note saying, 'Found something you might like'- sent me an old, previously unheard audio clip of my wife. This is exactly what I was worried about when I agreed to continue our partnership: the conspiratory lunatics your show clearly attracts. Do you not realize how concerning this is?"

"No, I agree, this is very concerning-"

"Then why don't you take some responsibility?" 

Of _all_ the days he had to call... Alex wishes she could toss her phone out the window. "Okay, but can we talk about the fact that someone we don't know sent you that tape instead of arguing _again_ about the direction of the show?"

That seems to shut Strand up. For the time being. 

"Was there a return address?" Alex says.

There's a pause, presumably Strand checking the envelope. "Yes." He sounds far from enthusiastic about indulging in her investigation, but she hears a rustle of paper. "412 Brockton Drive; Langley, Washington; zip code 98260," he reads.

She feels a mixture of relief and worry. "That's not where our studio is. I'll look up that address when I get back."

"Where are you now?"

She looks to her dashboard where Charlie's directions to the shack are taped down. "Driving. I'm... doing some research for Nic. He's working on a new podcast about urban legends."

The best lies are always half-true, right?

"Nonetheless, when it's most convenient for  _you_ -" Strand's sarcasm is strong here "-please look into it. I don't want this to be a recurring incident."

He's clearly in a foul mood and a contagious one at that. "I'll try," Alex says. That seems to placate him for now. "I just don't know who would have reason to comb through old episodes, know that specific clip was Coralee, and connect it back to our show. We haven't even aired-"

"You're  _airing_ this?"

Alex curses under her breath. "Yes. I'm airing it because it's my show, and I think it's relevant to the narrative. And you know what else I did? I took it to the police."

"Why would you do that?"

Alex nearly runs the car off the road. "Are you _serious_? Why wouldn't I?"

What she doesn't tell Strand is that the police told her she needed, "more substantial evidence," to reopen a closed case. She doesn't tell him how they politely but routinely showed her out the door, like they get dozens of desperate people coming in each day trying to break cases open. But of the two of them at least she's  _trying_ to do something.

That doesn't stop her from feeling incensed toward Strand.

Especially when he says, "The information in that tape is not relevant to her disappearance."

"Why do you get to decide what is and isn't relevant?"

"Why do  _you_?"

"Because it's my job," Alex says, remembering Amalia's advice. "I don't know why you're acting like I'm not on your side."

"Is that what you call this? Going behind my back and looking for information about my wife is _on_ _my_ _side_?"

"First of all, I wasn't explicitly looking for information on your wife. Second, what else am I supposed to do when you refuse to talk about her with me?"

"I don't know, perhaps trust that I knew my wife?"

"Oh, so you knew she was having an affair?"

_Shit._

She regrets saying that as soon as it comes out. It's a low blow, and she knows she was reaching too hard for it. Strand is silent. Again. He's either waiting for her to follow that disaster up or stunned into silence. She sighs, biting her lip in frustration. _Why_ do they keep ending up here? "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed-"

"She was."

He says it so quietly she almost doesn't hear him.

"An affair?"

"Yes."

Alex stares out at the road with her mouth hanging open, speechless.  _Coralee Strand was having an affair_. She tries to let those words sink in. _Coralee Strand was having an affair._ It's not working. She manages to utter, "Was it... did she have it with...?"

"The man on the tape?" Strand says. "No. I don't know who it was." A pause. "That's what we were fighting about. That day."

He's gotten even quieter.

Alex doesn't know what to say other than _I'm sorry_ , but  _I'm sorry_ doesn't feel like enough.  _I'm sorry_ can't find Coralee. _I'm sorry_ can't erase her affair.  _I'm sorry_ can't wind back the decades behind bars. She's so busy processing this information she nearly forgets to pull over to the side of the road. She turns her car off, but she can't bring herself to get out. Finally, a little bluntly, she asks, "Are you okay?"

"Excuse me?"

"Are you okay?" Alex repeats. It's such a stupid question. Why would Richard Strand be even remotely close to okay?

But maybe it's a question he needs to hear.

"I get by," he says. Unconvincingly. "Hearing her voice again was... difficult."

Alex can't begin to imagine what went through Strand's head when he put that tape in. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He sighs, and she thinks she's lost him. But then he says, "I'm worried. I don't know who sent this tape to me. Or why. The latter in particular worries me most." Alex is worried too. Not that she can tell him that. She has to be the journalist, the one looking from the outside in. Getting worried is getting too involved. "Whoever this person is, they know that my wife is a discomforting topic for me. If they know that, what else can they use against me?"

There's that guilt gnawing at her insides. That her show might be the reason for all this newfound attention. "I'll do my best to figure out who sent that tape to you," she says.

"Alex, may I ask you something?" he says. "As a friend?"

That's the second time he's called her a friend. Shouldn't reaffirmation of their friendship make Alex feel good? Why does she feel sick? "Of course. What is it?"

"Can you check on my daughter, Charlie? Make sure she's safe?"

She almost comes clean. About everything. 

If she finds substantial evidence, she'll tell him. She promises herself she'll tell him.

"I um... I actually spoke with Charlie yesterday." There. That's something to come clean about. Before Strand can question why, Alex adds, "She wanted to; I didn't seek her out or anything like that."

"How was she?"

"She seemed sad. A little frustrated," Alex says. "She told me about the night of your arrest."

This is her way of throwing Strand an opportunity. An opportunity to talk about the night of his arrest from his perspective. She's silently begging him to take it.  

"I see."

And that's all she gets.

Disappointed and tired from the drive, Alex leans her head against the the wheel. "So I'll give her a call." She sounds robotic. She wonders if Strand picks up on that. "Are we still on for Friday?"

They exchange the pleasantries they always exchange after their carousel ride of a phone call. Then Strand hangs up. Her call with Amalia dropped during their conversation, which does nothing to improve her mood. But she has work to do.

She sees the red light on her recorder still blinking from her conversation with Amalia. She keeps the recording.

Armed with her camera, a flashlight, Charlie's directions, and her cell phone, Alex gets out of the car and begins her trek into the woods. It's a short walk. Almost peaceful. When she reaches the shack, the sun is starting to go down. Time and nature have each taken their toll on the shack. Leaves and vines shroud the exterior so the shack blends in with the woods. The door is rusted open, inviting those who dare to look inside. There's a strip of crime scene tape still hanging off the entrance. Alex wonders if Charlie stood where she stands, contemplating going in or not. For Alex, the decision is easy. She turns on her flashlight, pushes some branches away, and steps through the doorway.

And what she sees throws her right back to the moment they found Sebastian Torres.

It doesn't matter if the overgrowth is blocking parts of the wall. The same mural, the _very same_ mural from the cabin in Portola State Park is in here. The numbers can't be the same, she rationalizes. They  _can't_. But the pentagram is indisputably the same. It's even positioned in the same spot on the wall. 

Why did Strand act like he'd never seen this before?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't dislike this chapter, but I don't love this chapter. But I felt like I needed something in-between the last chapter and the next one. I'll probably rewrite parts of it once I've written more of the entire fic.


	10. Lost Time

Melinda Hernandez keeps her hair pulled back, her makeup simple, and her suits tasteful but practical. There are no decorations in her office, aside from a generic landscape painting on the wall and a family picture on her desk. Alex gets the impression that she keeps her work life and her personal life completely separate. Maybe Alex could take a few pointers from her.

When Melinda invites Alex into her office, she says nothing more than a quick, "Alex Reagan? Right this way," and strides away without looking to see if Alex is following her.

"I have a client coming in at eleven so we'll have to make this quick," Melinda says as she drops a dusty folder on her desk. She gestures to a chair in front of her desk. "Have a seat."

She says it more as an order than a request. Alex obliges. "So you were Strand's lawyer?"

"I was."

"How was having Strand as a client?"

Melinda laughs, the same laugh she did when Alex asked her do to this interview. Perhaps she's a little more humorous than her no-nonsense exterior indicates. "Hell. He was one of the most stubborn clients I've ever worked with."

"So what made you work with him?"

"I had to. I was just a public defender at the time of his trial," Melinda says. Alex does the math. She couldn't have been more than twenty-five or twenty-six when she represented Strand. "I couldn't exactly say no to the cases the court assigned me."

"Why do you think the jury came to a guilty verdict despite the lack of evidence?"

"Bad timing," Melinda says. "In the wake of the OJ Simpson trial, juries weren’t exactly favorable toward husbands accused of murdering their wives. Not to mention Richard did no favors for himself by acting like a jackass. Like... here!" She's flipped open the folder and turned to her notes. "Here I wrote, 'Once again, Richard criticizes the prosecutor's abilities as an attorney and calls her questions _amateurish in her efforts to pick him apart_.' God, I don't miss the PR for this case."

"May I see the folder?" Melinda slides it across her desk, and Alex gingerly combs through her notes. 

Melinda hasn't just taken notes on Strand's trial. She's got newspaper clippings, photocopies of the crime scene, a small time capsule of what went on before, during, and after the trial. A chill goes through Alex when she lands on Strand's mugshot. "I can't believe this is him."

"I can see why she married him. Is it true he's still a looker?" Melinda says.

Alex ignores that question. He is. But he was even more so at the time of the trial. Even in police custody. He looks straight into the camera and holds up his placard. His suit is wrinkled and dirty, but he still carries himself with an air of confidence. His blue eyes pierce the lens, almost questioning why the photographer's bothering to take a picture of him. He's almost... threatening. Alex has talked to him when he's angry, but here he looks like he could commit murder.

"How do you like working with Richard? Is he still stubborn?"

Alex looks up at Melinda with a frown. "How did you...?"

"I listened to your show. Interesting stuff," Melinda says. "I'm not a believer, but my wife loves ghost stories. She reads them to the kids."

She's done her research. More than Alex thought she would for a brief interview. "Dr. Strand can be difficult to work with sometimes. We tend to have our best conversations when we're talking about his work in paranormal research," Alex says.

"And yet you've come to my office." Melinda gets up from her chair and crosses over to Alex's side of the desk, placing a hand over the folder in a show of dominance. "And you've been spending an awful lot of time in recent episodes devoting time to his wife." She leans slightly forward, enough to catch Alex off guard. "Alex, why are you here?"

Alex shifts nervously in her seat. "We agreed to an interview-"

"No, why are you  _here_?" Melinda says. "Investigating Coralee, despite Richard wanting nothing to do with her?"

Alex feels like she's in a courtroom, and she's pretty sure Melinda wants her to feel that way. "I'm here for the same reason you've held on to that folder. I think there's more to Strand's case than he's telling us."

Melinda leans back. She picks up the folder, leafing through its contents like a macabre photo album. "I'm not proud of my work on his case. That's why I kept this."

"Do you think he murdered Coralee Strand?" Alex asks.

Melinda closes her eyes, and for the brief second they're closed, the stress of the trial shows on her face. "I think Richard’s a brilliant man who’s deeply troubled by the disappearance of his wife."

"How so?"

"Regardless of whether he did it, I think Richard still feels responsible for her disappearance," Melinda says, a hint of sadness in her voice. "And maybe that's the reason for his behavior at the trial. Nonetheless, the only person who knows for sure is Richard himself, and he's not talking anytime soon. Especially to me."

"Why do you say that?"

"After the verdict, Richard dropped all correspondence with me. Not that there was much to begin with. The only time he responded back to me was to tell me he wasn't interested in appealing."

Now _that_ gets Alex's attention. "Strand never appealed?"

"Not once. Not even after I told him we had a good shot at a retrial," Melinda says. 

So Strand maintained his innocence, but he never appealed. Why would he do that? And Melinda's just one more person in a growing line of people Strand has broken contact with. Alex is seeing a pattern with Strand. He shuts people out. Usually people who are trying to help him. And seeing yet another person talk about how they tried to help Strand only for him to cut off all contact is frustrating. Alex doesn't understand why he's acting like this, and she's reaching a point where she can't move forward without knowing.

If Strand won't help himself, maybe Melinda can.

"Melinda, what would it take to appeal?" Alex says.

"Easy, Alex." Maybe Melinda can see the gears turning in Alex's head, the same gears that turned in her head so many years ago. "For us to even start the appeal process, Richard has to want it. And he's made it clear that he doesn't." She gets up and closes the folder. "Now if you'll excuse me-"

Alex stands. "But what if I have new evidence?"

"Now you're talking about reopening the case," Melinda says. "And unless you have Coralee's body or Coralee herself, most of your evidence will be too circumstantial to reopen a closed case. I appreciate your interest, but now I need to bring my client in."

So everything Alex has found. The postcard. The tape. The graffiti. She's no closer to making progress than when she started looking.

Maybe Melinda sees Alex dejectedly gathering her things and has a change of heart. Or sees an opportunity to clean stuff out. Either way, she picks up the folder and holds it out to Alex. "Here. This is doing no good gathering dust in my office."

Alex gratefully takes the folder. Melinda sees her out with one last word. "Should Richard decide he wants my help, I am more than willing to give it. But only if he wants it."

Alex gets back to her car. Before driving back, she picks up her phone and dials Amalia's number for the third time today. Her finger hovers over the call button. In the end her heart wins out over her head, and she calls Amalia. Even as the phone rings and keeps ringing, she still has a sliver of hope Amalia will pick up.

Then she hears Amalia talking in Russian and knows she's gone to voicemail. Again.

Alex contemplates hanging up like she did the first two times, but she feels like she can't leave Amalia without _something_. "Hey, it's Alex. I know how annoying it must be hearing from me this much. You're probably spying on the Russian government or something," Alex says with a laugh that dies down as quickly as it came to. "I miss you. I found out something interesting about Strand today, and I'm... kind of pissed off?" No. That's not the right word. "I mean I'm... confused. I don't understand how he can criticize me for hiding information from him when he does the same thing. And I don't know if... I should talk to him or let it go. But I can't just... what if he really did murder her?"

The thought hits her like a splash of cold water.

What  _if_ Strand murdered Coralee? That would explain his refusal to speak with anyone. Him intentionally avoiding the topic of his wife. Alex has seen him angry. And that mugshot...

She really wishes Amalia would pick up. "I guess... please call me back, okay? Whenever you can- don't feel like you need to rush. Okay. Bye."

Alex hangs up then starts the car and pulls out of Melinda's firm. She's going to look in Melinda's folder when she gets back. Then look into one of the black tapes. Melinda was right about her focusing too much on Coralee in recent episodes.

She remembers the promise she made to herself. Any substantial evidence, and she'll tell Strand. Even if that means him shutting her out too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why, but whenever I write Melinda's dialogue I hear the voice of Dr. Bright from The Bright Sessions. Which is not a bad thing by any means (I love The Bright Sessions), but just something I noticed!
> 
> Also I don't know if any lawyers read this fic, but I am so sorry if I bungled up any law jargon.


	11. Ethical Obligations

Over the next few weeks, Alex adds the contents from Melinda's folder to her evidence board. She ends up splitting the board into two sides:  _Strand Did It_ and  _Strand Didn't Do It._  Anything that can go either way falls in the middle of the board.

While she investigates Coralee, she also continues her work with Strand on his black tapes per their usual arrangement. Strand talks about the tapes. Alex doesn't bring up Coralee. Then as soon as she's done not bringing up Coralee, she's following up on leads about Coralee. It's a precariously balanced double life. Alex starts staying late in the office to accommodate the extra work. 

Her days fall into a pattern. Black tapes. Coralee. Black tapes. Call Amalia. Coralee. Black tapes. Sleep? Coralee. Black tapes. Possible connections between Coralee and the black tapes.

Those connections interest her the most. Take the graffiti in the shack. Alex has tacked the crime scene photos of the shack next to her own and the ones from the Sebastian Torres case. The numbers aren't the same, but they're placed in the same spots. Strand mentioned the symbols from the Torres case could be a door to Hell. What if the symbols in Coralee's case were meant to do something different?

Make someone vanish, perhaps?

The thought borders on ridiculous. Strand would say the same thing. Not that Strand needs to know about this.

Then there's Coralee's alleged affair. Said affair rests in the middle of the evidence board alongside the name  _Warren_ with a question mark. Alex almost didn't consider putting this up on the board. Mainly because the only other evidence Alex has to go on are Strand's word and the tape of Coralee. 

But say Coralee did. She had an affair, and Strand found out. Melinda's notes interpret the fallout from the affair in two different directions. According to her notes, after the affair came to light either  _Richard murdered his wife out of rage over her affair_ or  _Coralee, seeing herself in a dead-end marriage, took an opportunity to leave her old life behind._ There's not enough evidence to back either outcome.

And regarding lack of evidence, Coralee's body. Or lack thereof. To Alex, that's the strongest evidence that Strand, at the very least, didn't murder his wife. But if Coralee isn't dead, where is she? If the postcard she sent her parents was actually from her, that at least puts her in Colorado for an undetermined amount of time. Then how has she been able to avoid the public eye for so long? And why was there so much of her blood found in the same shack Strand and Charlie came upon? Was that intentional? Or was there some sinister third party involved?

Speaking of sinister third parties, who sent Strand the audiotape of his wife? The address Strand gave her was a dead end. Just a vacant warehouse up for rent. Ever since finding out someone sent that audiotape to Strand, Alex has been looking over her shoulder. Just the thought that someone could be watching her every move and using what she's found to torment Strand...

Something about that shakes her.

Then something  _literally_ shakes her.

"Alex?"

Nic shakes her by the shoulder one more time, causing her to jolt upright in her seat. "I'm up!"

The first thing she sees is Nic's concerned face. It takes her another second to register she's in her office. And another few seconds to notice the sticky note stuck to her cheek. She couldn't have been sleeping for more than thirty minutes, but she feels drained.

"Here."

Nic slides her a PNWS mug. Alex gratefully takes a sip before making a face and spitting the drink back into the mug. "Nic, you know I hate coffee."

"Yeah, well I think you need some," he says. 

Alex grimaces but takes another unenthused sip. She opens her laptop and starts combing her fingers through her hair. "Hey, have you heard from Amalia? I've been calling her for the past month and getting nothing."

"No, I haven't. Alex, can we talk about the show?" Nic says.

"Sure."

"Like on the record?"

Oh no. Normally Alex doesn't dread their recorded talks, but normally Nic doesn't sound this uneasy. She calmly shuts her laptop and reaches for her recorder. "What's up?"

"I just want to make sure you're still on track. You've been spending a lot of time lately on Coralee, and that isn't the show that we -or Dr. Strand- agreed to pursue," Nic says.

"I've been delegating my time equally between the Black Tapes and Coralee."

"Have you seen your office?" 

Alex sighs. She's not blind. Between the empty mugs of tea, the overflowing trash can, and the evidence board, her office looks like a conspiracy nut's inner sanctum. And the Black Tapes? Currently sitting in a corner dwarfed by a box of documents from June Jacobson. "Recently, I've found a little more information on Coralee than I anticipated."

"Does Dr. Strand know that?"

"Strand knows that I'm looking into any information on Coralee that might be relevant to the show-"

"No, Strand thinks that you aren't 'instigating the topic of Coralee's disappearance.' _That_ was what you and Strand agreed on. And _this-_ " Nic gestures to the evidence board "-is not holding to that agreement. I'm just concerned that you're stringing Dr. Strand along and making him think he's doing one show when you're doing something completely different."

"I'm doing what I have to do to get the story," Alex says defensively.

"'Get the story'? Jesus, Alex, do you hear yourself right now? What story are you exactly going for?"

"I'm telling-" Alex hesitates. What _is_ she going for? "I'm telling the story of Dr. Strand's work in paranormal research and how his wife's disappearance has impacted him."

"Because I don't think Strand knows that's the story, and if you want to continue working with him, he needs to know," Nic says.

"You've heard what happens when I bring up Coralee. I'm doing Strand a favor by not telling him."

Nic looks at Alex like she's gone off the deep end. "Alex, are you  _serious_? Coralee was Strand's wife. Even if the subject matter is painful to him, you don't get to make the executive decision on what he gets and doesn't get to know. If you don't, then... hell, we can't call what we're doing journalism!"

"You sound like  _him_."

"Maybe he has a point!" Nic says, on the verge of yelling. But he draws back, not wanting to fight any more than he has to. "I'm just saying: don't get lost in this story. I've seen what happens when you get like this." 

"This story isn't like that last one." It's bigger. Alex knows what she's doing this time.

"Just remember they found him guilty for a reason," Nic says, and Alex feels that twinge of doubt she felt outside Melinda's office. Nic breathes a little sigh of relief he always takes when he's done bringing up a painful conversation topic. "Anyway, that's not the only reason I came by. I have some new information on Coralee. But you have to promise me you won't follow up until tomorrow."

"I promise."

Nic gives Alex a skeptical look. " _And_  promise you'll get some sleep. At home. In bed. With a cup of tea, maybe." 

"Okay fine. See? Not working." Alex makes a show of shoving her stack of notes to the side where it joins her other stacks of notes. 

He still doesn't look convinced, but the gesture is enough for now. "So I was going through the files June Jacobson sent us and found a Warren Beauchamp mentioned in one of Coralee's emails. The email came from a store in Lake Tahoe..."

* * *

Tina Stevenson does not recognize Lisa Graves.

Alex spent most of the night ignoring her promise to Nic and researching the email on her laptop. She found out Tina is the owner of the store in Lake Tahoe. The second Alex entered her office the next morning, she gave a Tina a call. Even for seven in the morning, Tina was cheerful and happy to provide any helpful information. It was through Tina Alex found out the email found in Coralee's files was addressed not to her but to a Lisa Graves. A quick search through June Jacobson's documents showed that Lisa Graves was Coralee's college roommate. According to Tina, Lisa has a P.O. box in her store.

But when Alex sends a picture of Lisa to her? "That's not Lisa," Tina says.

Then an idea comes to Alex. A farfetched one, and a little desperate too. She sends Tina one more picture. "How about her? Is this who you recognize?"

A pause. An achingly long one.

"That's her. That's Lisa."

But it's not. The woman in that picture is Coralee Strand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnd Alex "Skirts the Laws of Journalism Ethics" Reagan makes her daring return! What will happen? Will Strand find out? Will Alex find the truth about Coralee? Stay tuned!


	12. The Last Interview

Alex has to tell Strand.

She knows she has to. She stares at her work phone, placed haphazardly in the middle of her desk between tea-stained notes and trash. Any second now. He'll call, she'll tell him. Easy.

_Hi, Richard. So your wife might be alive._

She can't sit here anymore. Alex gets up and goes to the break room to brew a cup of black tea. As she watches the water boil, she turns over the idea that Coralee might be alive. Or not. Depending on the time of day, either sounds plausible. Tina promised to contact her about any activity on Lisa Graves' P.O. box. That was two weeks ago. Last night, she mostly lied in bed fretting that Tina forgot or Lisa stopped using her P.O. box or any number of disastrous outcomes.

These past couple weeks she's spent a lot of nights lying awake in bed.

Then she hears it down the hallway. Her work phone. Teabag still in the mug, Alex grabs it and rushes back to her office. She barely registers the hot water spilling over and scalding her hand. Within three rings, she's back in her chair.

She'll tell him Tina Stevenson just happened to hear her show and gave her a call. Another bead in her string of half truths.

Ultimately, that won't matter. Once Strand hears this, he'll realize how important his wife's case is.

She can do this.

She hits the record button.

And with one deep breath, she picks up the phone.

"Hello?"

She briefly fears another mysterious stranger but then she hears him say, "Alex."

"Hi, Dr. Strand." She's trying to use his first name more, but his formal name slips off her tongue so easily. "So I'm actually really happy you called, there's something I want to talk to you about-"

"How exactly are you doing me a favor?"

Alex pales. "What are you talking about?"

It can't be.

"Not.Telling. Me." His words are clipped with fierce, surging anger. "How in  _the hell_ are you doing me a favor?"

He listened to it.

Her worst fear is confirmed when she hears Strand play a tape, hears her conversation with Nic played scornfully back to her. _How_? She's panicking, thinking of all the different ways some stranger got ahold of the audio and sent it to Strand. "Your producer sent this to me."

She never for one second suspected Nic.

"I don't even know where to start," Strand says. "Care to explain how you've been smearing my reputation behind my back for the past four months?"

The anger in his voice doesn't bother her as much as how _hurt_ he sounds. And yes, she knows she messed up, she knows she should have told him but at the same time... "Is that what you think I was doing? I was trying to figure out what happened to your wife."

"We had an agreement."

"I agreed not to discuss Coralee with _you,_ " Alex says. "And I held up that agreement even when I wanted-"

"Oh, really? How do I know that?" he retorts. "Because we discussed her _far_ more than I wanted to. How do I not know every time you 'accidentally' brought her up in conversation you weren't prying information out of me?"

"That wasn't my intention."

"You still deliberately hid information from me."

"Because I knew this would happen!" Alex snaps. "Richard, whenever  _anyone_ brings up Coralee, you shut them out! It's like you can't even consider any other possibility other than her death."

"That is not true."

"What about Melinda?"

Strand has no response to that. Alex can't resist twisting the knife a little further. "What about June and Lawrence? What about  _Charlie_? Richard, you shut your own daughter out of your life!"

"You have  _no right_ to bring up my daughter," he growls.

"So now I can't talk about her either? You can't spend the rest of your life shutting out everyone who challenges your point of view."

It's the equivalent of turning up the gas on a stove, and Strand is close to boiling . "I don't want you investigating my wife."

"You know I can't do that. I'm onto something-"

"I don't care what is it you're onto. If you can't abide by my conditions then we can't work together anymore."

Alex has to give it to Strand. He's actually managed to scare her with this threat. Sure, he's protested. He's argued. But this is the first time he's ever explicitly threatened to quit working on the show.

And what scares her most?  _It's not a bad idea_.

"Then maybe we shouldn't," she says, grip tightening on her phone. "Not if you're going to act like this every time I try to ask you something about her."

"Because my wife has nothing to do with my work!" he yells. He actually, honest-to-god yells. Like he yelled at Charlie.

That doesn't scare Alex. That pisses her off.

"How can you say that? The drawings from the Sebastian Torres disappearance match the same ones from the shack they found her blood in, something _you_ neglected to tell me."

"That was a coincidence."

"That doesn't change all the other things you've hiding from me!"

"Like  _what_?"

He has no idea what he's just challenged her to do. 

"I don't know, maybe how you picked up Charlie the last day you disappeared? Or how you knew Coralee was having an affair? Or how about this?" She needs to stop. Strand doesn't need to hear all this to get her point. "Melinda Hernandez told me you could have appealed your sentence, but you didn't."

"I have a right to-"

"No, you can't ask for total transparency on my end without doing the same!"

"I'm not asking for transparency, I'm asking for some respect to privacy!"

"Then you shouldn't have agreed to do this show!"

Strand and Alex both breathe heavily, like two fighters bloody and beaten but neither refusing to throw the fight. But Strand's starting to show some wear. "My wife is dead. Why can't you leave her alone?"

"Because what if she's not?" This is it. This is the part that'll convince him she's doing the right thing. "Two weeks ago, I talked to a woman in Lake Tahoe who has profound evidence that Coralee might be alive-"

"'Evidence?'" Strand says, the polar opposite of the reaction Alex hoped for. "You're taking the word of a complete stranger?"

"I'm doing _something_! Which is more than you've ever done since she disappeared!"

"I don't have the time or the resources to explore insane conspiracy theories about what happened to my wife," he says vehemently. "I have a reputation to uphold within the scientific community-"

"You're a  _felon_."

She spits out the word like venom. The aftertaste sits in her mouth, acidic and bitter all at once. She wants the taste out of her mouth, but it sticks like bad alcohol.

Worst of all, she strikes Strand right where she wants to. "Is that what youthink of me?"

"Everyone I've talked to. That is all they _ever_ see when I bring your name up," Alex says.

"Do you agree with them?"

His voice is softer now. Still angry. But beaten down.

"I don't know. Sometimes. You won't tell me anything, and sometimes I wonder..."

Maybe in another life, this was the part where they reconciled. Where Alex admits she doesn't think he did it. Where Strand confesses to hiding information from her. It's like those lines in math class, the ones that get closer and closer and closer...

They never touch though.

"I thought you respected my work," he says. "But now that I see otherwise, I think it's best we end our partnership."

No, this can't be how it ends, she will _not_ let it end. "Richard, why are you keeping yourself in prison? What are you hiding?"

He's silent. 

"Answer me."

"We're done."

"Richard-"

"My wife is dead."

"How do you know?" Strand doesn't answer her. " _How?_ "

"Goodbye, Alex."

"Did you do it? Did you murder Coralee Strand?"

There's a moment where the other line stays on long enough for Alex to know Strand heard her. She has the dimmest hope that maybe he'll answer her question. The biggest question of her investigation.

Then the line goes dead.

"Richard. _Richard!_ " But there’s no one on the other end. Alex slams the phone down. Before she can stop herself, Alex hurls her cup of tea at the wall.

The instant the mug shatters, she realizes what she's done. She rushes to pick up the pieces. "Fuck." The tea went everywhere, including the evidence board. Alex picks up a few shards, only to drop them all again when one piece slices her palm open. "Fuck fuck  _fuck_!"

She bites back a scream.

This was inevitable. She and Strand were bound to reach a breaking point. She's amazed they made it this long. But this is bad. Strand's work is as integral to the show as his wife's disappearance.

Alex squeezes her injured palm. She doesn't feel like cleaning this up. She doesn't even feel like getting a first aid kit.

In all honesty, she has no idea what to do.

Alex hears a knock at the door. Before she can say anything, one of the interns pops into her office.

"Hey, I..." The intern trails off, taking in the sight of Alex on the floor with a bloody hand surrounded by broken glass. "I um... I know you said not to disturb you until noon, but Tina Stevenson left a voicemail this morning. I transferred it to your phone."

Alex laughs bitterly. Just her luck. "Where's Nic?"

The intern nervously replies, "He's out."

"Good."

Alex wordlessly shuts the door in the intern's face and trudges over to her desk. She dials with her bad hand, not caring about the blood dripping onto the keypad. She hits play on the voicemail.

_"Hi, Alex? It's Tina Stevenson. I'm calling about Lisa Graves. She came by today. Call me back!"_

And then she knows exactly what to do.

Of course. She doesn't need Strand. This story is bigger than him now. She can focus solely on Coralee's disappearance. Dozens of crime shows don't feature the main suspect. She'll do some rewrites. Take out Strand's paranormal work. With his other material and the potential lead on Lisa Graves, she already has the meat and bones of a show together.

If Coralee proves to be alive, this could change  _everything_.

Alex quickly dials Tina's number. "Hello, Tina?"

"Alex! I’m so glad you got my voicemail."

"Tina, are you sure the person you saw was Lisa Graves?" Alex asks.

"Pretty sure. I mean my memory's not a hundred percent, but it’s all there on the camera footage."

Camera footage? That's even better. Better than whatever pretentious crap Strand would have to offer her. "Can you send that footage to me?"

"What?" Tina sounds confused. "But I gave it to your intern."

"Intern?" This is not happening. "I didn’t send one of our interns."

"Yes you did. He came by about an hour ago."

Alex wishes she had another mug to throw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got most of the next chapter completed so it should be out a bit sooner than this one. This chapter was also extremely hard to write. But I'm pretty happy with the end result! Thanks for sticking with it everyone :)


	13. Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've bumped up the rating on this fic for violence.

Alex Reagan is fine.

So she lost the central figure of her story, but she’s _fine_. An unknown person stole the strongest evidence for Coralee being alive, but she’s _fine_. Her friend is missing, but that’s fine, she’s fine, everything is _fine_.

That's why she's frantically going through her notes and ignoring Nic. "Alex," he says. She coldly pushes past him to grab a folder. "Alex, come on."

"I am not speaking to you," she hisses.

"Alex, I had to!"

Alex whips around to face him, raw fury in her eyes. "You should have let me handle it!"

"And when were you going to do that?" What gets her is that Nic doesn't even sound angry. He sounds ashamed. Of the both of them. Alex tears her gaze away from him. If she looks at him any longer, she'll stop being mad at him, and she doesn't want to stop being mad at him. And at Strand. _Fucking_   _Strand_ - she's fine.

She grabs her cell phone and puts in the address of Tina's store. According to Maps, it's a twelve hour drive. If she leaves now, she can get there by sundown. "Can you at least tell me what you're doing?" Nic says.

"I need to get to Lake Tahoe."

"Why?"

Alex doesn't answer. With shaking hands, she grabs her phone and car keys. Maybe Tina has footage of the man who took the video or some kind of backup video or- " _Why_?" Nic repeats.

"I don’t know, okay!?" Alex snaps. "But I can’t just sit around here and not do anything."

She can't tell Nic how she feels this story slipping from her fingers. How every second some stranger being out there with a vital piece of evidence sends her more and more into a panic. She hasn't touched the recording of her and Strand's argument, because she fears if she listens to it, she'll realize Strand was right. Her search for the truth behind Coralee's disappearance _is_  a futile effort. After Strand hung up, Tina's voicemail was the one thing keeping Alex from giving in to that idea. And now that video's gone.

If she can't get that video, she has nothing.

She's already lost Strand. She can't lose her story too.

The sound of her phone receiving a text interrupts her train of thought. She pulls up the message. This number's not in her contacts. It doesn't even have Seattle's area code.

_Ms. Reagan,_

_I have the video._

And suddenly, not knowing the number doesn't even matter.

_If you wish to receive it, you will arrive alone at the following address in fifteen minutes:_

Seconds later, an address pops up. Local. She can be there in ten.

_Pick a window seat._

"I have to go," Alex says, grabbing her purse and recorder. She darts past Nic before he can object and heads to her car. 

Maybe she wouldn't have left. Maybe if she had more time. Maybe if she'd gotten a full night of sleep. Maybe if her falling out with Strand didn't sting so hard. Maybe if one of her closest friends hadn't been the indirect cause of said falling out.

But Alex has none of those luxuries.

* * *

Alex picks a window seat in what ends up being a cafe. Part of her expected an empty warehouse or abandoned factory. Luckily, this place is crowded. She orders a tea. Fifteen minutes pass, and she orders another tea. Then fifteen more minutes, and another tea. By her fifth cup, doubt has crept into her.

What is she thinking? She doesn't know this person. This entire thing could be a setup. She still doesn't know who sent Strand the Coralee audiotape or who grabbed the surveillance footage from Tina's store... 

...or the man sitting down across from her.

Alex nearly jumps. He practically appeared out of thin air. Her first thought is (shamefully) how attractive he is. Not just attractive, the rare kind of attractive that turns heads and makes people stop dead in their tracks. Maybe it's his dark purple suit, perfectly tailored to fit him. Or the vivid green of his eyes. But he seems well-aware of how attractive he is and how to use it to his advantage.

People like him put Alex on edge.

He stares intently at her, waiting. "Can I help you?" Alex says.

"So you’re the elusive Alex Reagan." His voice has also a smooth quality too it. Almost sensual.

Alex nervously checks her recorder. "I wouldn't say I'm elusive. I have a LinkedIn." The man smiles, but there's no warmth behind it. He seems like he's... mocking her. "I take it you sent me this?" Alex pulls out her phone and shows him the text message.

He takes her phone and examines the text.

"So do you have it? The footage from Tina's store?" The man doesn't answer but continues to stare at her phone. "That's why you're here, right?" Still nothing. Alex tightens her hold on her recorder. "That  _is_ why you're here... right?"

"I wanted to thank you in person," the man says.

She frowns. "Thank me? I don’t understand-"

"You will." He stands. "After all, we’re pursuing the same thing."

"What are you talking about?"

He smiles at her. "Strand’s release, of course."

Without even a goodbye, he slips past her table just as quietly as when he sat down. Alex sits there simply stunned at the exchange. It isn't until a few seconds pass that she realizes something urgent.

He took her phone.

"Wait!" Alex grabs her purse and follows the man out of the cafe, still recording. She sees the man up ahead. He turns a corner, and Alex runs to catch up to him. She turns down into an alley. But despite her best efforts to get to him, he saunters out the other end of the alleyway. By the time she gets to the end, there's no trace of him. Just a vacant lot.

She's so focused on trying to see where the man went, Alex doesn’t notice the figure approaching from behind. "Hello, Alexandra."

Alex knows that voice.

She turns around into the face of a very alive, very unharmed Amalia. Alex blinks in disbelief. " _Amalia?_ " She doesn’t say anything, merely smiles in a familiarly coy manner. There’s something off about her. Her normally pristine makeup is greasy and smudged. Her clothes are rumpled, like she’s been in them for days. 

"Amalia, where have you been?" Alex says.

Amalia doesn’t answer her question. "This is going to hurt."

Before Alex can react, Amalia’s left fist slams into her right cheekbone. Her first reaction isn't pain but _surprise_. Then Amalia hooks her across her jaw, and pain splinters across her jawbone. The impact knocks Alex off-balance, then Amalia’s kick to her ribs sends her crashing face-first into the asphalt. The coppery taste of blood fills her mouth. Amalia's boot stomps down on her back, followed by a _crack_ in her ribcage.

Alex claws at the asphalt, trying to get up, but the boot presses down harder.  _"Shh_ ," Amalia coos. "Don't make this any more difficult than it needs to be."

She tries to scream, but all that comes out is a ragged whimper.

A cell phone goes off. Not hers. In her peripheral, Alex sees Amalia pull her phone out. "Yes," Amalia says to an unknown party. "Yes, I found her. She has it."

The boot comes off her back. Alex fights past the pain and pushes herself to her knees. "Amalia... please..."

She only has seconds to register Amalia going through her purse before she’s met with a kick to the stomach. “I understand now,” Amalia says. She looks down at Alex with a glint of... _something_ in her eyes. "I understand everything."

 _Understand what?_ is what Alex wants to say. She wants to grab Amalia, ask her why she's doing this, beg her to stay.

But instead, she coughs out blood.

"Soon you will understand too," Amalia says, reaching down to push Alex’s hair behind her ear. Almost as an afterthought, Amalia brushes her lips against Alex’s uninjured cheek. "Very soon," she whispers.

Then Amalia slips away. Alex can’t move, can't even think about chasing her down. She lies there pathetically on the asphalt, thinking about how stupid this was. What hurts most (other than everything) is this wasn't just a random stranger. This was  _Amalia_. And she couldn't make her stay. Again.

After what feels like hours but can only be ten minutes at the most, Alex forces herself up. There's a tugging pain around her ribs, like one tiny push and they'll shatter. She needs to... hell, she doesn't know what she needs to do. Get her purse? Alex winces reaching for it. But that pain gets quickly replaced with sheer, utter panic when she opens her purse.

Her notebook. Her flash drive. They're gone. Everything she used to store information on Strand's case is gone.

It's fine. She'll take some Tylenol, and she'll be fine. Amalia only got her portable research materials. All her other work is back at the... _oh no_.

Alex runs to her car.

* * *

Alex ignores the startled looks of the interns as she pushes the front door to PNWS open. Nic is at the front desk and looks up when he hears her come in. "Alex?" Then he does a double-take upon realizing what she looks like. "Whoa, Alex, what happened to you?"

Alex brushes past Nic. As she passes the front office, her walk turns into a sprint. And even though every step feels like a hand snapping her ribs apart like a wishbone, all she can think about is...

"No."

Her office is clean. No, not clean.  _Barren_.

Her notes, Melinda's folder, June's documents, the photographs, _everything_  is gone. Then she puts the pieces together. The stolen surveillance footage. The text. The handsome stranger. Amalia. It was all nothing more than a big two-hour distraction for someone to come in and clear all her work out.

She chokes back a sob. How could she have let this happen?

"Alex! What did... oh my god." Nic stares slack-jawed at her now empty office. "What happened?"

"It's gone," she whispers in a trembling voice.

He looks at Alex, those big brown eyes of his only making her feel even more pitiful. "Are you okay?"

She shakes her head, blinking back tears. "It’s gone."

"Alex-"

"It’s gone- it’s gone- it’s-"

Trying not to cry takes too much effort. She puts a hand over her mouth and quietly lets herself cry. She let this happen. If only she'd taken a step back, realized how she wasn't thinking clearly. Now it's too late. It's all gone.

Once Nic sees Alex crying, he goes straight to her. If he's held onto anything from their argument earlier, he's completely let it go. "Alex, hey, _shh_." Nic reaches to hug her.

But the second his arms wrap around her waist, something in her ribcage  _snaps_.

An agonizing scream escapes her, and her legs give out. Nic is yelling, "Alex! Alex!" then he’s yelling for the interns then they’re yelling for a car.

Someone hoists her up. She’s not sure who. They gently pull her away from her office, but part of her fights to stay behind. To cling to the scraps of her research. To her last connection to Strand.

Then she's in a car and crying again and someone is stroking her hair and saying everything will be okay. But how can anything be okay now?

Now she's really lost him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that we are officially past the halfway point for this fic! If this were an actual podcast, this chapter would be the "season finale." Thanks to everyone who's stuck around until this point! We're really getting into my favorite part of the story, and I hope you guys will like it!


	14. Business As Usual

Ruby doesn’t like visiting Richard. Oh, she likes talking to him. He certainly enjoys her visits as well. But the entire visitation process is a pain. She tugs uncomfortably at the turtleneck she wears whenever she visits the prison. It’s her only article of clothing that entirely hides her tattoos. She’s also taken off all her piercings -another no-no according to security- which feels like entering a battlefield without armor. She’s got on respectable jeans, respectable shoes, and she carries a respectable folder with Richard’s respectable research materials. So fucking respectable.

Ruby greets the guard -a younger guy named Ian- who knows her by name now as she’s escorted into the visitors’ room. They talk about his wife; she’s expecting a baby soon. He puts Ruby by her favorite spot: the window. She’s a firm believer that natural light improves mood. And who knows how much light Richard gets from his cell.

She catches her reflection in the window and scowls. She looks like her mom. Her mom would say she looks her age for once.

Ian brings Richard in, looking more haggard than usual. Even his beard can't hide it. "Are you not eating again?" Ruby asks.

"I’m trying. I haven’t had much of an appetite," Richard says.

"Is this because of-"

"Can we please just talk about work?” He looks at Ruby, blue eyes begging not to say her name. "Please."

Ruby knows not to push. That's why she's kept this job for eight years. "Okay. Fine."

So they do. Ruby goes over potential new cases. They've had an influx lately thanks to the show that shall not be mentioned. Ruby prides herself in sorting through the dozens of cases they get and selecting the few that will interest Richard. Picking up on his very particular set of criteria took her years to figure out. When she first started handling his casework, she'd be lucky to pick out one good case. Now she can pick at least two or three with ease.

So when Richard rejects every single one of her picks, Ruby's ego gets a little bruised.

"How are you not interested in the Reed case? You love poltergeists."

"I don't, 'love' poltergeists," Richard says irritably, "and the fact that the Reeds think they can pass off rusted old pipes and cheap flashing lights as poltergeist activity is an insult to anyone with a functioning brain."

"Okay, what the hell is going on with you?" Ruby says.

"There is _nothing_  going on with me..." He sees Ruby staring daggers through his front and sighs. "Has she aired it?"

Of course he would want to know. "No. She hasn't."

"But she will." He stares down at the table with a look of dread. "It's only a matter of when."

"Well, considering Alex spent yesterday in the hospital, I don't think she's airing anything anytime soon."

He raises his head. "What?"

Catching Richard Strand by surprise is a near-impossible task, but the words, "Alex" and, "hospital" do it. For better or worse. "According to Nic, a friend of theirs cornered her in an alley and broke two of her ribs," Ruby says.

"Is she all right?" There's more curiosity than concern in his voice.

"She looked pretty banged up when I saw her." Ruby leaves out the part where Alex, near-sedated on painkillers, begged her not to tell Richard what happened.

"You visited her?" Richard says in disbelief.

Ruby shrugs. "I like her. And I think you do too in spite of everything."

"I hardly like her," he near-snaps at her. "The level of unprofessionalism I had to deal with..." Ruby silently lets him rant on about everything he hates about Alex's journalism practices. She always lets him rant. Maybe that's why their dynamic works so well. He doesn't like being challenged, and she doesn't like challenging. But today feels different. Today she feels the way a sober friend does while their drunk friend complains about an ex. "From the very beginning I was opposed toward investigating my wife's case and what does she do?" Richard says, like Alex went in and murdered Coralee herself. "Just that. I'm more surprised she didn't get attacked sooner."

"Ouch. Aren't you being a little harsh?" Ruby says. 

It's the nicer alternative to _Quit being a dick, Richard._ But Richard isn't done. "I have given Ms. Reagan plenty of chances to take the high ground. She wasted my time and instead went chasing after an already shut case that I have no interest in-"

"Okay, did you ever give her a chance to explain _why_ she was investigating Coralee's disappearance?"

And when Richard glares at her, Ruby gets nervous. She hates mentioning Coralee. But she’s also not a twenty-two year old college dropout anymore, anxious to the point of paranoid of pissing people off. She has a home. She has a job. She has fucking insurance.

If she doesn't call him out, who will?

"Richard, you know I avoid bringing up your wife.”

"And I appreciate that-"

"But I wouldn’t be saying this if I didn’t think you needed to hear it," Ruby says, pushing her hair back so she can look at Richard with both eyes. "You know what else happened? While Alex was out getting her ass handed to her, someone came in and stole all the evidence she'd been collecting for  _your_ case."

And despite his best efforts to remain unfazed, Richard's eyes widen. "What?"

"Yeah. Apparently, she had something. Who knows what now? But Alex was trying to _help_ you. Could she have been a little more open about it? Yes. Should she have gone behind your back? No."

The normally vocal Richard is stunned into silence. "...I didn't realize you felt so strongly about this."

"Have you listened to yourself for the past twenty minutes? If you want to talk about your problems with Alex, talk about them  _with Alex,_ " Ruby says. "When you're ready to talk about work again, then that's what I'm here for."

He goes quiet again, staring contemplatively at the abandoned pile of cases. "What do I say to her?"

Ruby throws her hands up in an _I don't know_ gesture. "You'll think of something."

"What if she doesn't want to speak to me?"

"Dammit Richard, just call her."

* * *

It takes Richard two days to call Alex.

He rationalizes reasons not to call her. She's busy recovering. She's probably sleeping right now. She'll want to be around friends. After nearly twenty years surrounded by people who can't come to terms with the crimes they've committed, he practically has a doctorate in rationalizing.  

Only when one of the guards asks why he didn't call his "reporter friend" this week does he finally gather the nerve to dial her number.

He almost gives up when she doesn't pick up the first time. But he remembers what Ruby told him. Even if he never speaks to her again, he owes her at least one last conversation.

She picks up after two rings. "Hello?" Richard's first thought is how weak she sounds. Not that she doesn't try to sound normal. If Richard wasn't so used to the sound of her voice, she might have fooled him.

"Hello, Alex."

Her voice softens. "Richard."

He opens his mouth but can't think of a single thing to say. He hadn't exactly planned this far ahead. "Are you... doing okay?"

"I'm fine."

She's been crying. Richard can hear it in her voice.

"Ruby told me what happened," he says.

"Traitor."

He huffs out a laugh. "She does work for me."

"I guess I can't blame her," Alex says. She pauses like she's just as unsure of what to say as Richard is. "I'm on 'medical leave.' I think that’s just Nic's way of forcing me not to work." She attempts a laugh of her own, but it quickly turns into a cough. Richard can’t do anything other than listen to her on the other end of the line as she excruciatingly coughs and hacks for air. She finally quiets down. "Not that it matters. All my work is gone."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Really?" she says sardonically. "I thought you'd be thrilled."

Maybe he is a little thrilled. At first. But that's before he hears how defeated, how broken she sounds. Then any satisfaction dissipates. "I would be equally upset if someone took all my research."

Alex makes an unconvinced _hm_. "Yeah, well, your research didn't make you go behind you friend's back and... and..." She inhales sharply and coughs again, this time deeper and more pained. "What I'm trying to say is you were right. This entire story was a mistake. I should have just focused on the black tapes."

This is exactly what Richard wanted to hear Alex say. Not like this though.

"You know, this isn’t the first time I’ve let a story run off the rails," she continues. "I was supposed to interview someone about sexual expression under Putin's Russia. But then we decided to work together on the story. Then we got involved."

"You got..." Her wording sinks in. " _Oh_."

"And that was the same person who attacked me. I really know how to pick them, don’t I?"

"I'm sorry."

"Me too. For everything. Last time we talked, I said some things I didn't mean."

"So did I."

They both settle into silence. This was technically a reconciliation, but Richard doesn't feel reconciled. Where do they go from here? He can't exactly ramble on about myths and demons because he's not even sure if they're still on myths and demons. Now there are real people hurting someone he at the very least doesn't want to see hurting. Why would someone attack Alex? Someone who knew her at that? And why the setup? Why have someone distract her then break into her office, unless... unless...

_Apparently, she had something._

"I know you're recovering, but I have to ask," Richard says. "Did someone break into your office because you had a lead on my case?"

Alex thinks for a solid minute. "I'm not sure. My best lead had already been stolen."

"And that was...?"

"Surveillance footage. Of Coralee." She's hesitant to bring her up again, no doubt remembering how Richard flew off the handle the last time they talked. He should have controlled his temper better. But after so long and feeling so confident in his wife's death... "Or maybe not Coralee. I never got the chance to see the tape. Unless we can get that back there's nowhere-" she coughs again "-nowhere to go."

He sighs. There's nothing he can do on his end. Not as long as he's stuck here. "I wish there was something I could do."

"Actually..." He hears Alex shift, presumably to an upright position. "When the footage got stolen, a man claimed to have the tape and asked me to meet him -that kind of triggered this whole thing, but that's not important- he mentioned your name."

And suddenly, every hair on Richard's body stands up.

"What did this man look like?" he asks, trying to bat out a spark of panic.

"Tall? Green eyes. Kind of sexy. But not Roger Moore sexy, Daniel Craig sexy... do you know who Daniel Craig is?" she asks, an uncharacteristic lilt to her words. "Sorry, I think my Oxy’s kicking in. Why?"

"Nothing."

But there's something. A sinking, nauseous feeling in Richard's stomach. If Richard was certain, he'd tell her. But if it turns out to be nothing, he doesn't want to cause any more stress in Alex's life. 

Alex yawns. "I'm sorry. I'm having a hard time keeping my eyes open."

"We can do this later."

"You mean... you want to talk? Again?"

"I think we need to," Richard says. "In fact, I think we need to meet in person. I don't feel comfortable discussing this over the phone."

"They let me drive starting next week. Can we do then?"

As they go over potential meetings times, Richard briefly feels like time has rewound itself and they're back to work again on the black tapes. But every time Alex coughs or winces over the phone, he's jerked back into reality.

He can at least offer her one small consolation.

As they say their goodbyes, Richard says, "And I didn’t. I didn’t do it."

The confession hangs in the air. Then Alex says, "I knew it. All along." He can almost hear the smile in her voice. "I'll see you soon, Richard."

"See you soon, Alex."

Then she's gone again. Despite Alex sounding the happiest she's sounded for their entire conversation, Richard is on edge. He looks around at the guards he's grown familiar with and the inmates that come and go (and sometimes come back). He doesn't know these people at all. Any one of them could be working for him. He can't even fathom the number of people he might have outside these walls...

He still has some phone time. 

His stomach churns as he dials a number he hasn't touched in years. Maybe it won't work anymore.

"Hello, this is Thomas Warren."

Of course it still works.

"Did you have anything to do with this?" Richard says. 

"Dr. Strand, what a pleasant surprise," Warren says. "I’m not sure what you mean."

"You know exactly what I’m talking about."

"Ah," Warren says like he's just realized who Richard’s referring to. "Your reporter friend. Such a shame. Have they found her attacker?"

"I don't know how you-"

"She’s a bright one," he says with a sickening amount of affinity. "I see why you like her. So different from Coralee, don't you think?"

"Do _not_ bring Alex into this."

"Are you really in a position to be making demands?" Richard is silent. He's right. "I'm actually very pleased you called. My offer still stands, if you're interested."

"Go to hell."

"I _highly_ recommend you consider it."

Warren hangs up. Richard swears under his breath when he really wants to get in a car and gun it. He thought he was safe here. He thought  _everyone_ was safe with him here.

That was before Alex.

He sometimes wishes he believed in ghosts. They're far less frightening than people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alex is alive! Yay! Thomas Warren is here! Not yay!


	15. Something We Can Do

The four days between the phone call and the visit go by in slow motion for Richard. Of course, most of his days go by in slow motion. By now, he should be used to it.

Whenever time is passing slowly, Richard reads or writes.  _The Count of Monte Cristo_ is one of his favorites for obvious reasons. So he reads that again. Then he writes. Works on cases.

Anything to distract him from the thought of wringing Thomas Warren's neck.

_There's nothing I can do_. The phrase has served him well in prison. Back when he first arrived at the Washington State Correctional Facility, the sheer helplessness that came with imprisonment nearly drove him mad. Now, he accepts the helplessness if only because he has no other choice.  _There's nothing I can do_. He can't speed time up. He can't go to Alex. He has to wait.

By the day of her visit, he has read  _The Count of Monte Cristo_ three times.

Everything about the visitation process brings Richard back to their first meeting. He still remembers seeing her. After all, Alex was his first new visitor since Ruby. His first thought was she looked like someone who  _would_  send him eleven letters.He remembers her wide-eyed glances around the visiting room, the recorder she held onto like an extension of her arm, and most of all, the calm, put-together way she held herself. She was undoubtedly nervous, but she wouldn't allow herself to so much as flinch in front of Richard. 

Today, she seems held together only by the stitches on her left cheek.

The bruises on her face are healing. That’s about the only positive aspect of her appearance. The baggy sweatshirt may hide the bruising around her ribs, but Alex can’t hide how the sheer act of breathing seems painful to her. She can barely keep her eyes open. Richard can't tell if it's pain meds or if she's just that exhausted. What bothers him most are her eyes; any spark behind them is gone. The Alex he first met and the Alex today may as well be two different people.

He briefly entertains the notion of cupping her cheek. Gingerly tracing his fingers over her bruises. Promising this will never happen again. The guard's iron grip on his arm steers him away from that.

One sign of normality, he notes wryly, is Alex still brought that damn recorder.

Richard slides into the opposite seat, sparing Alex the formalities. "We don't have a lot of time."

"I know."

Her voice is only a couple notches above a whisper. 

He's so used to her steering their conversations. When she doesn't start immediately grilling him with questions, he's at a loss for where to go. "Well... what do you want to talk about first?" he says.

"Have you told anyone else?"

Richard automatically tenses. He should have anticipated Alex wanting to talk about it. "No. Ruby suspects I didn't, but we've never explicitly discussed it." Which is how he prefers it.

"You shouldn't be here," Alex says.

"I know, but that's not important-"

"But you shouldn't be here," she repeats, her brow furrowed in confusion. "How is that not important?"

"Alex, I can't-" And he almost breaks, the closest he's come in a long time. "I can't. If I let myself think for even a second about-" His breath hitches. He forces himself to look at the floor tiles and breathe.  _There's nothing I can do. There's nothing I can do._ After a few agonizing seconds, the panic passes. "Can we talk about something else?"

"Okay." And she drops it. For now. "So I brought my recorder, but I'm not going to record this conversation. Not unless you want me to."

"I'd prefer you not," Richard says. "And thank you. For the discretion."

They're both quiet again. The clock is ticking. If Richard can't think of where to go, the hour will be a waste. "What happened? Ruby gave me bits and pieces, but I'd like to hear it from you."

Alex tells him the entire story from the alleged footage of his wife disappearing to Amalia leaving her in the alley. Her story has none of the dramatic flair he's heard her do so well on her podcast. She simply relays what happened.

She sounds like the encounter broke more than just her ribs.

"So now you know," Alex concludes dully.

"And Amalia? Your..."  _Girlfriend_  doesn't feel right. Not that Richard's uncomfortable. Ruby's rotating circle of girlfriends quickly got him with the times. But Alex doesn't seem keen on using the term. "Your friend. You're certain it was her?"

"Yes. I mean, she'd been missing for weeks, but I know Amalia. And seeing her like that..." Her brave face slips into fear and heartbreak for a second. "It’s like she wasn’t  _her_. I know how crazy that sounds, but..."

"Demons aren't real, Alex." She looks at him, confused. Dammit, he was trying to cheer her up. "You know. In case you were wondering about possession."

He could blame his abysmal sense of humor on prison, but that's always been with him.

Alex still laughs, or tries to. It's more of a cough but not as severe as the one over the phone. "No. They aren't. But something  _did_ happen to her. Amalia wouldn’t do  _this_." Alex gestures to her bruises. "She wouldn’t."

"Would her work in Russia have something to do with this?"

She shrugs. "Maybe. But she was researching something for  _our_ show, not..." She trails off. Richard averts his eyes. He didn't mean to stare. "They're not as bad as they look," she says. Neither of them quite believe her.

"What about the footage you mentioned? Did the man in the cafe have it?" Richard asks.  _Did Thomas Warren have it?_

Alex eagerly changes jumps to that subject. "Not with him. But this part's weird. I looked at the surveillance footage from Tina’s store. While I wasn’t able to get a copy of the Lisa Graves footage, I was able to get one of the person who took it." She slides Richard several low quality photographs. She points to the figure at the counter. A scrawny young man, probably in his twenties, with red hair and a goatee. "That’s the guy who took the video footage."

She moves on to another photograph, one showing the front area of the store. Richard sees the man before Alex points him out.

"And that’s the man who came up to me in the cafe."

He takes the photo under the guard's watchful eye. Thomas Warren has aged. Better than Richard. Money and life beyond bars go a long way.

"Do you know him?"

He considers saying no. Just one syllable to keep Alex away from Warren.

But Warren's already found her.

"I do."

Her face is a look between  _Are you kidding me?_ and  _That's it?_  "Well? Who is he?"

He sighs. "He's-" Then he panics, again, his mind going to everything that could go wrong. This one's worse. Whenever this happens, it's like hundreds of barbs hooking into his body and tugging. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Excuse me?" Alex says. He doesn't answer her, too busy thinking of every scenario where something goes wrong. " _Richard._ "

Her voice snaps him back into reality.

She's angry. "We can't keep doing this."

"This?"

"Hiding information from each other," she says. "I'm not doing that again, and I'm not going to sit here and let you-"

"He might hurt you again."

He whispers that.

And Alex pales with grave understanding. "I... I didn't realize you were worried."

_Worried_ is an understatement.

"I know you want to help," Richard says. "But you don't understand what a huge risk you're taking."

She leans forward as far as the table will allow her. "I'm willing to take that risk. Who is he?"

She won't let go. How in the  _hell_ has she not let go? His eyes travel over her bruises once again, and he finally realizes why. She's not broken like he assumed. Worn down, yes, but that's only encouraged her to push on. She hasn't given up, because she's not Richard. Alex Reagan isn't going down without doing something to get closer to the truth. 

Maybe... it's time he started doing something too.

"Start recording."

If he's going to confess, he's getting it on record.

She presses record, and the red light blinks on. "His name is Thomas Warren," Richard says, trying to give as little dignity as possible to his name. Not that he believes in names having power. But that doesn't stop a name from being repulsive.

Alex frowns. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

"He's CEO of Daeva Corp," Richard says. "Among other things."

"Wait,  _that_ Thomas Warren?" He nods curtly. "How do you know Thomas Warren?" He feels himself closing off again. But Alex doesn't get angry. "Richard, tell me." Her voice is like a hand reaching out to hold his. Something he hasn't experienced in a very long time.

He steels himself. She made this decision- no,  _they_ made this decision. "Warren's been trying to get me to work for him. For awhile now."

"What does Thomas Warren want with you?" she asks.

"I don't know. From the sources I've been able to gather, his company funds  _a lot_ of paranormal research projects. Tannis Braun, Amelia Dumont, all of those people wouldn't be where they are without some of his funding," he says. "No direct funding, of course. A multi-billion dollar company throwing away money into ghost hunts would make for bad press."

"Have you ever taken him up on his offer?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because Thomas Warren is a lunatic." That comment slips out, uncharacteristically vitriolic. Even Alex looks surprised. "Please cut that out."

"Of course."

He gathers his thoughts into a more coherent, professional response. "His beliefs aren't founded in science. He believes that my work validates the existence of paranormal presences rather than refutes it. Back before my incarceration, Warren  _insisted_ my work was, 'the key to a better world.' He'd send checks. I'd tear them up."

"You never accepted any of his money?"

Some days he wanted to. Especially once he was in prison. The temptation lessened once Ruby became his assistant. "I didn't want  _his_  money tarnishing  _my_  work. Now he's gone from offering me money to offering lawyers." He looks at Alex's bruises again. Guilt washes over him. "And now I see he's gone back to threats."

"Wait, this was his way of sending us a threat?" Alex says.

"I strongly suspect so."

"You said he's 'gone back' to threats," Alex says. "What did you mean by that?"

And here comes the part Richard dreads the most. "The day Coralee and I left on that road trip, she told me she'd been working for Thomas Warren."

Suddenly, Coralee is there. Sometimes Richard imagines her sitting next to him in the prison yard. Or looking through the bars into his cell. This time, he's out of the prison. They're sitting in Richard's old Honda, pulled over at a gas station.  _The_ gas station. She's telling him the truth. Why she's been gone so much. Her affairs. He's yelling. And even though Richard knows it's a memory, Coralee's blue eyes look so real that when she tries to hold tears back, he almost believes he's experiencing it for the first time.

The scene shifts. He's back in the prison. Alex is sitting across from him, patiently waiting for him to go on. "Our marriage. Everything had been a lie," he says quietly. "We fought. She was frightened. She told me we needed to leave Washington, but I was so angry, I wouldn't listen."

"Why did she want to leave Washington?"

"She said-"

"Time's up, Richard."

They both look up at the stern-faced guard. It's Thompson. Sometimes the guards are more lenient about visiting times, but never Thompson. Dammit, how can their hour be over already? "Please, can I just have a few more minutes?" Richard says.

Thompson practically yanks Richard out of the chair. "Rules are rules, Richard. Get moving."

"Please, I'm not asking for-" Thompson forcefully pulls on his arm, forcing Richard to stumble forward. He looks back at Alex. "Stay away from Thomas Warren. He's a dangerous-"

Thompson jabs him between his shoulder blades. "Are you deaf?  _Move_."

Alex stands. "Just call me when you can, okay?"

He doesn't want to call her. He doesn't trust the phone lines, doesn't trust who else might be listening on the other end. Thompson briskly leads him away from the visiting room, his window of opportunity growing smaller and smaller the closer they get to the door. He still has so much he needs to tell Alex. He's spent so much time keeping himself away from everyone, never stepping out line. 

For the first time, he doesn't want to spend the rest of this life in prison.

He makes a decision.

Richard bids goodbye to a spotless 19-year record and pushes the guard to the floor. 

Thompson hits the floor with a thud. Richard has about thirty seconds before Thompson gets up and overpowers him. A few inmates cheer, gearing up for a spectacle. Richard can feel everyone's eyes on him.

He freezes for one second.

Then he remembers Alex.

He runs back to her. Before he even realizes what he's doing, his hands are protectively on her shoulders, rules about physical contact forgotten. "Tiamat. Look up Tiamat. That's what Warren is interested in," he says. "And contact Melinda."

Fifteen seconds.

Somewhere in the chaos, he realizes this is their first time touching.

"Okay." Alex nods, more than a little shaken. Is she afraid of him now? Or of what will happen to him? "What do I say to Melinda?"

"We need to start the appeal process," he says.

Ten seconds.

In Richard's peripheral, Thompson gets up and calls for more guards.

"Be careful," Richard says. "I don't know when we'll see each other again."

Five seconds.

Then something unexpected happens. Alex hugs him. It's quick and sudden, like they both know what's about to happen. He feels a rough hand on his shoulder. The last thing Richard sees is Alex's face, stunned and worried but also hopeful.

Two seconds.

Then he feels a blow to the back of his head, and his world goes dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late-ish update! My summer internship was wrapping up, then I was moving into a new apartment, and overall it's been pretty hectic. I also had some challenges about where to take this chapter. I even ended up changing the way it ended because I felt it was a little too calm. Something just needed to happen.
> 
> Enjoy! Next chapter will be shorter, but it'll hopefully be out a bit faster.


	16. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I technically consider this chapter 15.5 but AO3 doesn't. I felt like the story needed a chapter to showcase the passage of time between the Chapter 15 and 16. So here it is!

Alex can't sleep.

When the doctor had her on heavy painkillers, sleep returned. She hoped maybe this would be the end of her sleep troubles. But once her prescription ran out, the sleepless nights picked up right where they left off.

Only now her ribs ache. Any position she sleeps in worsens the pain. The doctor said it would take at least six weeks for her ribs to heal. According to him, the pain is normal. She turns for the fifth time in her bed, and as a whole new set of aches and pains surface, she thinks otherwise. She groans and finally throws the covers off. She grabs a sweater and her laptop and pads into her kitchen to make a cup of tea.

Alex pops two ibuprofens and puts her kettle on the stove. She tries not to look at the clock.

It's 2:38 am.

While waiting for the water to boil, she thinks about Richard. She hopes he's all right. The image of Richard crumpling to the floor under that guard’s baton is burned into her memory. She remembers rushing to his side. He murmured her name right before another guard pulled her away. 

Six days have passed since then.

Alex hasn't heard from him. Not that she expects to. No doubt he's being punished for pushing that guard. She just wishes she knew how long or even what was happening to him.

A tiny part of her just misses the sound of his voice.

Water boiling, Alex takes the kettle off the stove and pours it into her mug. While her tea steeps, she takes a moment to close her eyes and lean against the cool metal of her refrigerator. So far, this is the most comfortable sleeping position she's tried.

Maybe medical leave has worsened her sleep problems. She can't wait to get back to work,  _real_ work in her office and on the road. She's definitely not a work-from-home type of person.

Sometimes she wonders what it would be like if Richard wasn't in prison. Would they have stayed on the black tapes, never pursuing Coralee's disappearance? Would he accompany her on the road? Would they listen to the radio and share cheap motel rooms? She misses their rapport from back when they first started, before the possibility of his innocence took priority. Maybe one day, if-  _when_ he's released, they would go back to those cases. Take a road trip. Or maybe not given how Richard's last road trip went.

Yesterday, she phoned Melinda to deliver Richard's message. Melinda told her that she'd handle it. But she also said the appeal process could take months or even years. She promised to use any court connections she had to speed the process up but couldn't guarantee an immediate hearing.

It was a sobering conversation. A snap of Melinda's fingers won't exonerate Richard. It's going to take time and work. 

The least Alex can do is work off of what Richard gave her before their visit ended. She grabs her tea and laptop and settles onto the couch for a long, sleepless night. She opens her laptop and Googles  _Tiamat._

If Alex can't sleep, she'll make the most of her time awake.

* * *

Richard can't sleep.

Somehow this bed is harder than the one in his cell. Four blank walls stare mockingly back at him. He doesn’t have his books. He doesn't have his typewriter. He doesn't even have a pencil.

All he wants now is a clock.

Time doesn't exist in solitary confinement. Days feel like nights and nights feel like days. With nothing to distinguish them other than meals slid through an opening in the door, Richard has no grasp on the passage of time. Has it been a week? A month? A year even? He fears more time has passed than he assumes. He'll emerge an old man, like Rip Van Winkle emerging from sleep.

He hears footsteps down the hallway. He stands like a dog waiting for his next meal. He's nothing more than a dog at this point. Hungry. Tired. Desperate for some kind of contact.

The slot in the door slides open, and Richard kneels in front of it, trying to see who's on the other side. "Please, all I want is pencil and paper-"

But the window slides shut just as quickly as it slid open, a food tray before him. Richard sighs. He leans into the cool metal and closes his eyes, begging for some kind of stimulation.

"Be careful what you wish for."

Not her. Anything but her.

Coralee sits on the bed with her legs crossed. "You aren't real," Richard mutters.

"Does it matter?"

Her lips are glossed with red. Red, red, red all over. All stemming from a slit across her throat. She tilts her head back and red pours out from it like a waterfall. "You're holding up remarkably poorly. Some men spend decades in solitary, and you're breaking down after a few days."

So it has been a few days. That's one relief.

"I had to tell Alex," Richard says less to Coralee and more to himself.

"No, you didn't," she says coldly. "You could have easily told her about Tiamat over the phone."

"They would have heard us."

"You don't know that."

"You were the one who told me they can," Richard says bitterly.

She doesn't argue with him. Or he doesn't argue with himself. Alex already knows so much. If Thomas Warren found out she was researching Tiamat... one thing solitary has provided him is ample opportunity to imagine every scenario where something worse happens to her.

Coralee eyes him curiously. "You're paranoid, Richard. More paranoid than when I was alive."

"I have to be."

She gets up and saunters toward him, leaving a trail of red droplets. "What you did was irrational. You can't do something like this again."

"I won't attack Thompson again."

She grabs him by the chin (no, his mind perceives being grabbed by the chin), her blue eyes staring into his own. "You know what I'm really talking about."

Alex.

He touches the lump on the back of his head. His first memory after coming to was being dragged past the cells in handcuffs. He could hear the whispers of his fellow inmates.  _Doc's finally snapped. Took him long enough._ And despite the pain, despite the humiliation, his first thought was  _Where is Alex?_  If someone other than Alex had been visiting him, would he have pushed Thompson over to gain a few precious minutes of time? Would he have called Thomas Warren after eight years of cold silence if someone other than Alex had been attacked?

"If that were me, would you have done the same thing?" Coralee asks.

Richard blinks, and she's gone. Nothing more than the result of a head injury and several days of isolation. He draws his knees up to his chest and puts his head in between. If he could just  _sleep_. Let the time pass so his mind wouldn't dwell on his relation to Alex Reagan.

Deep down, he misses the sound of her voice.

And he knows if Alex were in his situation, that wouldn't stop her. She'd think. Richard raises his head. Until they let him out, he needs to figure out a plan. A plan to get him out of here for good and make sure no one else gets hurt in the process. He can start with dredging up everything he knows about Thomas Warren.

If Richard can't sleep, he'll make the most of his time awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also wanna say really fast that I'm floored by all the positive comments and kudos. It makes me even more excited to post each chapter. Thank you so much, everyone.


	17. Back to Work

Two weeks after their visit, Alex finally hears from Richard.

_Alex,_

_I apologize for my delay in getting back to you. I spent the past week in solitary confinement._

_They’ve revoked my phone privileges indefinitely. We will have to settle for written correspondence until I get them back. I’ve attached some companies that Warren funds discreetly. They might help you in finding your friend._

_Please be careful._

_\- Richard_

The _please_ is underlined twice.

She takes the letter as a sign. It’s time to get back to work.

Despite Nic’s protests, Alex officially returns to work three weeks after the... incident. She finds her office clean and a mug of tea waiting on her desk. The interns are nice. Her producers are nice. Nic is exceptionally nice. Everyone is so fucking _nice_. Alex doesn't need tea and concerned looks. She needs to work.

Which is why sitting down in front of the studio microphone feels like coming home.

_"I know some of you have been concerned about my absence,"_ Alex starts. _"A lot has happened, but I promise: we’re not going anywhere. Dr. Strand and I..."_

Thanks to Richard’s letter, Alex does find some information about who sent him the Coralee audiotape. The warehouse listed at that address belongs to a storage company that belongs to a larger corporation that partners with -surprise, surprise- Daeva Corp.

Then there's Tiamat. According to the Wikipedia page, Tiamat is a Babylonian goddess of creation. Alex digs further and finds Tiamat stands as both the power and the chaos of primordial creation. She is part creation and part destruction. 

_"I don't know yet why Thomas Warren would take an interest in Tiamat or how Strand's work is involved."_  Alex and Ruby went through Richard's notes. After two hours and an order of Chinese takeout, they found a single sheet of paper. There's not a lot of writing, just  _H_ _orn of Tiamat?_ written and circled with  _Ask Howard_ beneath it.

"I wonder when Richard started calling his own father by his first name," Alex said between bites of noodles.

Ruby shrugged. "Probably as soon as he could talk." She put her chopsticks down and eyed Alex oddly. "When did _you_ start calling him, 'Richard?'"

Her cheeks felt hot that night.

_"Amalia is... still missing."_ Alex winces, feeling the phantom pain of Amalia's boot crushing down on her ribs.  _"If anyone has any information on her whereabouts, please contact us."_

While Alex's search for Amalia has come up with little information, there was some progress on the man who took the surveillance footage from Tina's store. Nic's hacker friend managed to identify him (with monetary incentive). She forwarded Alex his missing persons flyer.

His name is Sean Atkins. Caucasian, 29 years old, missing for 3 months, 2 weeks, and 5 days. Last seen in San Francisco. He's wearing glasses in the flyer, but not in the footage.

As she stares at the flyer, Alex can't stop thinking about Amalia's disappearance.

What if Amalia and Sean aren't the only ones who've gone missing?

Then finally, past Thomas Warren, past Tiamat, past even Amalia, at the forefront of her thoughts is Richard. She writes him letters updating her progress, but writing doesn't have the same rapport as their phone conversations. He writes with the meticulousness of a man with two PhDs, and she writes like she's trying to meet a deadline, typos included. But Alex promised to keep him in the loop, and she's holding herself to that promise. 

_"Some of you have been asking about where the show will go from here. In_ _light of Dr. Strand's confession, we've both agreed that putting the black tapes on hold until his release is the smartest decision for the podcast."_

_Until_. Alex sounds so confident on the recording. Like she and Richard actually have a strong case. Like the appeal process is actually moving forward. 

Her phone calls with Melinda do little to assuage the feeling. "Alex, I told you I'm doing what I can, but this is a slow process."

"What if I can get the police to reopen the case?"

"With  _what_?"

The question cuts like a knife. 

"What time is it?" Melinda says.

Alex sighs. It's six-thirty eight. She promised Nic she'd leave by five.

"Go home, Alex."

They exchange goodbyes, then Alex hangs up. She knows Melinda's right. Not about the going home part, but the process. It's only been five weeks since Richard decided to appeal. No doubt his solitary confinement's only delayed the process even further.

If Alex could just hear his voice, she might feel a little less worried.

Alex grabs her empty mug and trudges to the break room. Her office is on one end of the hallway, and the break room is on the other. It's not a long walk, but when everyone's gone and the lights are dim, the walk feels longer. Her footsteps are soft going down the hallway, but the dead silence in the building amplifies the sound. Naturally, the sound of her washing her mug out in the sink is loud as thunder. 

She puts the mug in the cabinet and freezes. Someone left the bathroom door open, offering a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She briefly thought it was someone else.

Everyone went home for the weekend. Alex knows because they either popped in to her office to say goodbye or she caught them on their way out. So why does she feel like someone's still here?

Alex goes back down the hallway, opening doors and turning lights on. All the offices are empty. The recording room is empty. She goes to the lobby and checks the lock on the front door. There's no dark, shadowy figure standing in front of the glass door, waiting to be let in. The entire building got new locks after someone broke into her office. The only way for someone to get in after hours is a key card. 

She goes back to her office and packs up her things. Despite checking the entire office, the hairs on the back of her neck still stand up. She's still not entirely convinced someone won't slam her door down, grab her by the-

Her work phone goes off, and she nearly jumps. Alex tells herself to breathe. She fully intends to let it go to voicemail.

Until she sees a phone number with a Russian area code.

Alex yanks the phone off the cord. "Amalia?"

"Alex Reagan?"

That's not Amalia's voice.

"Who is this?" Alex demands. Whoever this is, he's got her phone.  _Amalia's_ phone. "How the  _hell_ did you get her phone?"

"Open your blinds."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So first things first sorry about the wait! Once I started class again I knew I wouldn't have time to write, and I wanted to see how the podcast wrapped things up before continuing. 
> 
> With that in mind, the show explained virtually nothing. Thanks, Terry. 
> 
> After the finale, I basically had to rethink how to write the remaining chapters, especially the supernatural elements. I'm gonna try and write as much as I can while I have a break, so thanks for bearing with me!


	18. I'm Here for Alex Reagan

"I'm calling the police."

Alex locks her door. She puts her chair underneath the handle for good measure. Whoever this man is, _no one_ is getting to her or her work. Not again. 

"Please hear me out. I need your help," the man says.

Somewhere in-between the _please_ and the  _help_ , Alex's fear shifts into anger. "You have Amalia's phone and you're asking me for _help?_ " She picks up her cell phone and furiously begins to dial the police.

"I don't know who that is." There's a pause, like the man is taking in Alex's words. "She's missing too, isn't she?"

Alex stops dialing. She instinctively touches the scar on her cheek. Why would he say _too_? Unless... she approaches the window, blinds still drawn. If there's someone (or  _something_ ) outside her window, there's no way she can leave the building and get around him. But he can't get  _in_. And she has two phones. So she makes a decision.

"You have five minutes."

And with a deep breath, Alex opens her blinds.

There's not a long-limbed shadowy man standing right outside her window as she originally pictured. But there is man standing on the other side of the road. He's holding a phone. And he's looking right at her.

"Are you alone?" he says.

"No," Alex lies. She reaches for her recorder and hits record. "Now once again: _why_ do you have Amalia's phone?"

"I don't know," the man says. He sounds scared. The streetlight partially puts him in the shadows, but Alex thinks he might be shaking. "All I remember is waking up at a bus stop in Portland with this phone and forty bucks in my pocket."

"Why did you seek me out? Why not go to the police?" Alex says.

He looks nervously to his sides. "I don't... trust them. I know I sound crazy but... then again, I don't remember the last three months of my life. So maybe I am crazy."

The last  _three_ months? "Wait..." Alex squints. Upon closer inspection, Alex sees the man has red hair, a beard that needs trimming, and a pair of cheap glasses. His clothes have the same rumpled, slept-in quality Amalia's had. "Sean Atkins."

He squints back at her. "Do we know each other?"

"No. At least, we haven't officially met. Sean, you've been-"

"-missing. Yeah. I found my own missing persons poster online. "

"How do you know who I am?"

"I remember hearing your name. Well- ah, geez." Sean pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a second to gather his thoughts. "I remember saying, 'I'm here for Alex Reagan.' But why would I say that about someone I don't even know?" 

"Maybe you heard someone else say it?" Alex suggests.

Sean shakes his head. "If I did, I don't remember. But I remember saying 'I'm here for Alex Reagan.' Clear as day. At the bus stop, I did some research, and I found your show- and then I found you in her phone so I just thought... maybe you knew something. I don't know. I sound crazy, don't I?"

Alex puts a hand on the window but doesn't invite Sean inside. She wants to believe him. But Sean showing up with Amalia's phone, asking for her help... it's all a little too convenient. However, that doesn't mean Alex thinks Sean is lying. He's too frazzled. Either he's an incredible liar or he genuinely has no idea how he ended up in Portland or why he has a stranger's cell phone. If the latter is true, someone wanted him to find her. Alex is just sorry he got caught in the middle.

Especially hearing the childlike fear in his voice when he says, "Alex, I'm freaking out. I don't remember the last three months of my life."

"What's the last thing you remember?" Alex says.

"I went in for a job interview at Daeva Corp."

And then everything makes a little more sense. Panic flutters in her gut. Alex pushes two slats in the blinds apart, and looks down the street for anyone watching her or Sean. But there's no cars or people. Sean is completely alone.

"Why were they interviewing you?" she asks, keeping her voice calm.

"I'm a sound engineer," Sean explains. "When Daeva Corp contacted me about a job interview working in their research department, I was ecstatic. I'd been doing freelance work, and that application was just a shot in the dark. I mean, this was Daeva Corp, not a Craiglist ad! I showed up to the interview, and everything seemed legit. But once I was in the waiting room, I started... hearing things."

Alex's grip on the phone tightens. "What kinds of things?"

"Vibrations. Low frequencies. I can't describe it, but if I heard it I'd know," Sean says. "I must have been waiting for three hours. I tried the door, but it was locked. By then I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Then my head started hurting, and everything after that is a blur."

"What do you mean by, 'a blur?'"

"I mean I remember bits and pieces- like your name," Sean says. "And sometimes I'd be in a room and not remember how I got there. It's like when you go out drinking and you blackout."

"So you don't remember being in Tahoe, California?"

Sean's eyes widen. "What? No. I- I wouldn't- why was I in Tahoe?"

"You took surveillance footage from a store there and claimed to be an intern working for me," Alex says.

"No I didn't!" Sean says emphatically, like a knee-jerk reaction. "I've _never_ been to Tahoe- unless... unless..." He puts a hand over his mouth. He murmurs, "I'm here for Alex Reagan. Oh my god."

Something about the way he says that, like someone programmed those words into his brain, makes Alex nervous. "Sean, I need to call the police," Alex says. "The police- and your family- need to know you've been found."

He nods. "Yeah. Yeah, you do that." Sean sits down on the edge of the sidewalk. "I'm here for Alex Reagan," he repeats more to himself then Alex.

Alex backs away from the window and reaches for her cell phone. Then a thought occurs to her. "Sean, did you hear something like this?"

She plays the Unsound. By now the sound no longer phases her, but there is undoubtably tension in the air as she waits to hear Sean's reaction. She lets the audio run for ten seconds before stopping and looks back at Sean.

Something is wrong.

Sean is ramrod still. His eyes are wide and unfocused. "How did you get that?" he says softly.

"Sean, have you heard that sound before?"

He ignores her question. "Can you hear that?"

"I'm not playing it anymore-"

"No, can you hear  _that_?"

Alex frowns in confusion. "Sean, I don't hear anything."

He looks frantically to his right. Whatever he sees, it has him frightened. "How can you not hear that- argh!" He doubles over and an almost inhuman groan escapes him. "You have to..."

He breathes heavily, like the air isn't getting to him. "Sean, are you okay?" Alex says.

He looks up at her and in a strangled voice, he yells, "Close the blinds! Don't let them see you!"

The fear in his eyes is enough to get her to do it.

Alex shuts the blinds and crouches beneath the window. She doesn't hear gunshots or tires screeching but a dead, flat silence. "Sean?" she says into the phone. Silence. "Sean?" A couple seconds later, the line goes dead.

She doesn't know how long she stays crouched like that. When she gets up and opens her blinds again, the street is empty. The only evidence of someone even being out there is the little red light blinking on her recorder. Alex picks up her recorder. She needs to go to the police.

Hands shaking, Alex packs her things and goes over her conversation with Sean in her head. He reacted adversely to the Unsound. Potentially, he was first exposed to the Unsound (or something similar) during an alleged job interview with Daeva Corp. But why would Daeva Corp utilize the Unsound? The legend doesn't say the Unsound affects memory. But from what Sean told her, some kind of sound wiped out three months worth of memory. Maybe the only reason Sean was able to even pick up on it in the waiting room was because of his background in sound engineering.

But wouldn't Alex and everyone else who's listened be affected the same way? This information also doesn't add up to Thomas Warren's supposed interest in Tiamat. Alex thinks. What do the Unsound and Tiamat have in common? In theory, both imply some kind of disorder. The Unsound causes death. Tiamat brings about creation. 

Then Alex remembers something else. What if Warren was interested in something _specific_ about Tiamat? Something about Tiamat that generated sound. Something like... the _Horn of Tiamat._

She has to tell Richard.  _Now._

Heart pounding, she dials the number of the Washington State Correctional Facility. If she can't reach him directly maybe she can relay a message. The number goes to voicemail like she expected. "This Alex Reagan, and I have a message for Richard Strand," she says. "I think Thomas Warren's interested in  _sound._  Maybe utilizing certain sounds to invoke certain behaviors. That's why he'd be interested in the Horn of Tiamat. I can't be sure, but-"

The doorknob rattles. 

Her stomach drops.

Alex snatches her keys and recorder and unlatches the window. The doorknob rattles again. Alex slides the window up, only for it to jam halfway. Another rattle this time followed by a  _thud_. Alex tries again, but the window remains stuck. She looks between the half-open window and the door.

A louder thud, and she opts for the window.

She hits the window frame sliding through, sending a sharp pain through her ribs. The night air bites through her thin sweater. Her eyes dart around her surroundings, looking for any signs of people. "Sean?" She's met with only silence. Now she sees how off that is. There's always traffic around this street, especially at 6:45 on a Friday night.

Unless someone deliberately doesn't want anyone around here.

She has to get to her car.

Alex half-runs, half-walks down the street. Her car is two buildings down from PNWS. She's so focused on getting to her car, her foot trips on a crack in the sidewalk, sending her sprawling down on the pavement.

The fall knocks the breath out of her. Someone's watching her. She _feels_ it. But no one appears out of nowhere. No car pulls out in front of her. Alex can feel her ankle swelling, but she forces herself up. She gets in the middle of street, where the lights are brighter. She's limping, but if she has to, she'll run. She'll make herself run.

Alex sees her car. Parked in a parallel spot right where she left it. She's going to make it.

She fumbles for her key and nearly drops them, but she unlocks her door.

She has to be twenty feet from her car.

Then she hears it.

The sound of brakes screeching. 

Two seconds later a van pulls out in front of her, and running is no longer an option. 

* * *

Something awful has happened.

Richard can’t explain why, which irritates him. Today he gets his phone privileges back. This should be a good day. In the cafeteria during lunch, he picks at a soggy salad knowing full well that in one hour and twenty-six minutes, he will be able to talk to Alex Reagan.

Yes, this  _will_ be a good day.

"Heard you got a voicemail."

Richard looks up to see one of the guards -the one who's always taking bribes- looking at him like a cash prize. "I thought we weren't allowed voicemails," Richard says, choosing his words carefully.

"Not technically. Receptionist found it this morning on the front desk phone." Now the guard - _Hoffmann,_ that's his name- saunters to Richard's table and pulls up a chair. "Someone must _really_ want to talk to you. She almost deleted it, but I convinced her to keep it... for now."

Richard knows that tone. "How much do you want?"

"Fifty."

"I'll have it to you by dinner."

"That's what I like to hear." Hoffmann gets up and pats Richard on the shoulder. 

And the bad feeling returns.

It follows Richard to the phone booth. It stays with him as he dials Alex's number. And for the briefest moment, it vanishes when he hears her pick up. "Alex." The other end is silent. "Alex?"

"Alex isn’t here."

That's Nic's voice.

"What do you mean?"

He hears Nic put the phone down. Sounds of people talking. He strains his ear, but he can't make out what everyone's saying. Then, "Richard?"

"Ruby? What are you-"

"She's disappeared, Richard."


	19. Consequences

**Day 1**

If Richard had to rank the lowest points in his life, he wouldn't be able to. 

Because a rank implies a scale of misfortune. A clear 1-10 scale from good to bad that explains why one low point is worse than another. When in actuality, each and every low point in Richard's life carries its own unquantifiable mix of tragedy. Depending on the day, he feels the sting of certain points more than others. One day cutting off contact with Charlie may feel worse than the day the jury found him guilty of first-degree murder. Then vice versa on another day. There is no consistency.

But if Richard had to rank his low points, hearing Alex Reagan has disappeared would rank high up on that list.

Somewhere, worlds away from where he is right now, Ruby's voice tries to reach him. "Are you still there? Richard, please say something."

His first and only coherent thought is  _no_. This can't be happening again- it just _can't_. Everything he felt from 1997 comes back to knock the breath out of him, only this feels worse. Because unlike 1997, there is _nothing_ Richard can do. He can’t get in a car and drive out to look for Alex, and even if he could, he’s forgotten how to drive. He doesn't know the circumstances of Alex's disappearance. He doesn't even know how long she's been gone. What if she's been gone for weeks and only now has Ruby gotten the chance to tell him?

"What happened?" he manages to say.

"Richard, this is not Coralee-"

"What. Happened."

" _This is not Coralee,_ " Ruby repeats. Her tone is forceful, but Richard can hear her breaths, short and shaky like she's trying not to cry. Alex is her friend too. "I know that's what you're thinking. But we have better technology, we have more people looking- we're going to find her. Okay?"

"...Okay."

"So you can't go and disappear on me for five days."

He's not sure if that's a joke or if he's coping by interpreting it as one. "There's nowhere I could go."

"You know what I mean."

He could retreat into his cell and refuse all contact. Before he met Ruby, he might have done so. But Alex wouldn't want him to do that. "Just tell me what happened," he says as calmly as he's able.

"We're not sure. She was the only one working last night," Ruby says. "Nic tried to get into her office this morning, but it was locked from the inside. And there was a chair under the knob. Her window was open."

"Did someone break in?"

"It looks more like she climbed out. The only things gone are her keys and her recorder. But her car's still here." Richard hears more talking in the background. He thinks Ruby yells at someone, but he can't make out what she says. "Shit, the cops want to talk to me. I have to go. You have my cell; call me when you can, okay?"

They say goodbye then Richard hangs up. He goes back to his cell to try and find something to distract him only to find himself staring at the walls.

Alex is missing. 

Richard used to think of all the things he'd do differently when Coralee disappeared. Now he can't think of a single one. Alex is missing, and he knows it's because of him. Just like Coralee.

And unlike Coralee, there's nothing he can do.

* * *

Around ten that night, Richard's lying awake in his bed when he hears someone slip a parcel through his cell door. He sits up. The voicemail. He completely forgot about it. He puts his glasses on and picks up the unmarked parcel like it holds something fragile. In a way, it does. After staring at it for a moment, Richard tears it open and pulls out a CD. Even if Richard doesn't care for Hoffmann, he has to give him credit. Hoffmann pays attention. 

He slides the disk into his CD player. It's a relic from the early 2000s; Ruby got it for him so he could listen to the Pixies. Now he waits to hear Alex's voice.

When her voice comes on, he gets a chill he can't fully explain. "This Alex Reagan, and I have a message for Richard Strand." Her voice wavers between calm and frantic. "I think Thomas Warren's interested in _sound_. Maybe utilizing certain sounds to invoke certain behaviors. That's why he'd be interested in the Horn of Tiamat. I can't be sure, but-"

There's a sound in the background then the recording cuts out. Richard plays that last part again. It sounds like something rattling. Maybe the door Alex locked.

Richard never thought of the Horn of Tiamat from a scientific perspective. But if what Coralee told him was true... Alex might have been onto something. Even if Richard didn't (and  _doesn't_ ) believe in an ancient power, is sound technology that far-fetched? What if Warren found a way to utilize what he perceived was an ancient tool of chaos?

And what if Thomas Warren found out Alex was looking into Tiamat?

Richard has to speak to Warren. He may not be able to go out and look for Alex, but he can find out if Warren was involved in her disappearance. For better or worse.

**Day 2**

"Ah, Dr. Strand," Thomas Warren says with all the subtlety of a freight train. "I was wondering if I'd hear from you again."

Richard almost hangs up. But then he remembers the voicemail. "What are you offering?" he says. "If I agree to work for you, what are you offering?"

There's an exhale on the other end of the line, like Warren has been holding his breath for the day Richard Strand finally asks him that question. Richard feels sick. "I want your appeal to go through," Warren says. "We all do. Your guilty verdict really threw us for a loop. If you agree to work with me, I might be able to... accelerate the process."

"Is that all?"

Warren laughs. Richard never liked his laugh. It always sounded robotic, like an imitation of human laughter. "Of course not! I would love to discuss the full terms of your agreement to work for me. But I'd prefer an in-person meeting. Phone calls are so impersonal, don't you agree?"

Richard recollects all the phone conversations he's had with Alex and thinks _no,_ they're not. "And if I don't agree? What then?"

"Richard, I can't force you to work for me," Warren says. Anyone listening in would think Warren was being sincere. That's what Richard used to think. "But think of the consequences."

"Do you think I haven't thought of every-"

" _Think_. Of the consequences," Warren says. "You've made some decisions that have lead to some very  _bad_ consequences, Richard. Consequences that affected other people in your life."

Warren's doing what he does best. Giving away enough information to keep Richard on the line but not enough for Richard to know if Warren was involved in Alex's disappearance. "You'll have to be more specific," Richard says.

"Why did you call me really? Has something happened?" Then Warren's voice gets low. "Let me be more specific: has something happened to  _Alex_?"

Richard hangs up. 

He returns to his cell with Warren's words echoing in his head.  _Consequences_. Agreeing or declining to work for Warren will have consequences. Either way, Richard has to make a decision.

He can choose to remain in prison, out of Warren's reach but imprisoned for a crime he didn't commit. Or he can play the odds. Appeal. Get a new trial. Then what? Enter a world that he hasn't seen in nearly twenty years? A world where Thomas Warren can and will get to him? If not him, then the small pool of people he cares about? Ruby and Charlie's faces flash into his mind. Then the Alex who came to visit him with broken ribs and bruises. He remembers Coralee telling him Warren would do anything to get Richard working under him.

Coralee fed him a lot of lies, but that wasn't one of them.

But if Richard stays in prison, he also has less a chance of finding Alex. He didn't expect Warren to tell him over the phone  _I have Alex, and the only way you'll see her again is by giving in to my demands._ He thought he'd be able to gage Warren's ulterior motives beneath his ulterior motives, but the phone call revealed nothing. Just that Warren has his eyes on him.

Then wouldn't Warren lord having Alex over him? Perhaps that's why he wanted to meet in person. Richard stops pacing. He didn't even realize he was pacing in the first place.

He looks at the CD with Alex's voicemail on it. This can't be the last thing he hears from her. He could call Warren back. Continue prodding him for any information how much he knows about Alex's whereabouts.

Or he can do something painful.

Something he hasn't done in nearly twenty years. At least not to this level of intensity. Something he's not even sure works.

Then he thinks of Alex leaving him that voicemail. He has to try.

**Day 3**

He begins with the first episode of _The Black Tapes_. Back when Ruby first sent him the CDs, Richard only paid attention to the segments he featured in. But now he listens to Alex. He listens to every word, every verbal tic, every nuance in her syllables. He tries to picture her making the recordings: what kind of room was she in, what was she wearing, was she sitting or standing, what facial expressions she made. He lays on his slab of a bed with headphones on, listening to every episode of  _The Black Tapes_ , then listening to them again and again and again. He wants to be able to conjure up the sound of her voice without having to think.

And she has a nice voice. Not that Richard never noticed. But listening to her for hours and hours allows him to truly appreciate Alex Reagan's voice. How her voice is calm but infused with curiosity and passion for her work. She could read ingredients off a soup can and sound captivating.

What if that voicemail is the last time Richard will ever hear her voice?

He moves on to the letters. These communications are shorter but more recent. He picks up each letter and imagines Alex's voice when reading them. Then he tries to think of the same imagery he pictured when listening to the podcast. He repeats the process, over and over, until Alex is the only thing occupying his mind.

For the briefest second, Richard even sees her. It happens during dinner. He looks up and could swear he sees Alex walking out of the cafeteria. But he blinks, and it's just one of the prison staff.

The brain searches for ways to confirm established beliefs. Richard shouldn't be surprised.

With her voice and her words running through his mind, Richard starts to think from Alex's perspective. What would have caused Alex to climb out her window with nothing but her keys and recorder?

A story. There had to have been some kind of story otherwise Alex wouldn't grab that damn recorder. But she didn't have time to grab anything else. Something startled her enough to leave suddenly. Then something else (potentially what originally startled her) intercepted her before she could get to her car. What Richard can't figure out is what happened once she got out the window. Was she taken? If so, by whom?

After dinner, Richard finds Hoffmann on his way back to his cell. "I need one more thing."

"That's nice," Hoffmann says dismissively, no longer interested in an inmate with nothing he can lord over them.

But Richard wordlessly presses a wad of cash into Hoffmann's palm. "A burner phone. By tomorrow."

He needs to make sure no one's listening.

He goes to bed thinking of Alex. Of where she might be right now. Is she sleeping too? Is she okay? Is she  _alive_? That last question haunts him the most. To think only three days ago he was expecting to see her. Not just expecting,  _looking forward to seeing her_. When was the last time he felt that way about someone? Ruby perhaps, but Alex challenged him in a way that Ruby didn't. Even when Richard didn't agree with Alex, she raised thought-provoking counterarguments. Maybe that's why even when she angered him, he still found himself picking up the phone and dialing her number.

Richard only hopes that by the time he wakes up, he'll have some answers that will find her.

**Day 4**

The next day Melinda Hernandez pays a bleary-eyed Richard a visit. "You look terrible," is the first thing she says after the guard leads him into the visiting room.

"I had a rough night," he says.

That morning he woke up from a dreamless sleep and no closer to finding Alex. He was foolish to think he could. Why should he? Because of a technique with no scientific reliability that's only worked a few times in his life? He shouldn't have woken up feeling so disappointed.

"How do you feel about going to court tomorrow?"

Richard blinks. " _What?_ "

"I've talked to a judge. Your appeal's been set for Thursday," Melinda says.

"This is-"

"Sudden, I know. But we have a solid case. If we don't take this court date, you might be stuck here for years."

Richard shifts in his seat. This court date sounds too good to be true. What if Warren is responsible? With Alex gone, he hasn't even entertained the idea of appealing. "I just don't know if I'm ready to appear in court again-"

But Melinda won't hear of it. "Richard, it's been twenty years. You’re taking this court date. And you're shaving. You need to look less like the Unabomber."

* * *

That night Richard has a dream. A vivid one. He dreams about his honeymoon- more like he _relives_ his honeymoon. He's at the Empress in Victoria, which should have changed since 1997. But everything is as it was, even Richard himself. Not just physically either. He feels the same happiness from his honeymoon, fresh and new and most of all, hopeful.

In the dream, he still loves Coralee.

Every part of their first night at the Empress plays back to him in vivid detail. He sees Coralee's navy dress, the one with the slit down the side, and the white rose in her hair. She joked by the end of the night, the rose would turn red. They get their key, and Coralee leads him by hand down the hallway. To Room 307. He'd never forget the number. When they reach their room, Richard puts his arms around Coralee's waist and pulls her in for a kiss, and they stumble into the hotel room like giddy teenagers. 

But there is one discrepancy. For the entirety of the dream, Richard doesn't see Coralee.

He sees Alex.

**Day 5**

Around 4 in the morning, Richard wakes up sweating. It takes him a second to remember where he is. How old he is. His entire body is sore, and not just the usual sore that comes with old age. He hasn't felt this sore since... since looking for Coralee.

Did it work?

No. Every rational part of his mind insists that it didn't work. He just had a dream. But Richard still pulls the burner phone out from under his mattress. What if he's wrong? What if this is the one chance he has to find Alex before losing her too?

Before he can stop himself, he's dialing. "Empress Hotel, how can I help you?" the receptionist says.

If this works... "Hello, can you patch me to room 307?" Richard says.

"Right away sir."

The phone rings at what feels like a deadening pace. Each ring and Richard is more and more certain he's making the wrong decision. A confused stranger will pick up and ask who's calling and why. And he'll be no closer to finding Alex.

Then he hears the click of someone picking up.

"Hello, Richard," a voice that’s not Alex’s says.

It’s a voice he hasn’t heard in years. A voice he never thought he’d hear again.

"Coralee."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She's back! And in the following chapter, I'll have her say two lines of dialogue then we'll never see her again.


	20. Coralee

Coralee.

The dead wife. The face on every major news network in 1997. The catalyst for Richard winding up in prison. For Richard, she's become less of a person and more of a symbol as time has passed. 

And he just heard her voice.

"I thought you were dead."

She  _is_ dead, his mind corrects him. And dead wives don't rise from the grave, not after a year and definitely not after nineteen years. This is some cruel, _senseless_ trick orchestrated by Warren. One more twist of the knife in a succession of- 

"Presumed dead."

But he knows that voice.

"Terminology, Richard."

That voice repeated their wedding vows. That voice talked Charlie through her first crush. That voice yelled at him to think of the bigger picture before disappearing down a highway. Richard's entire body is tense to the point where he's nearly shaking. His brain keeps telling him  _Coralee is dead, Coralee is dead_ , but that voice has to be hers. So then his brain goes to the next possible explanation: Coralee was never dead. 

In his gut, Richard knew. From the second she said his name. And if she's alive that means...

"Nineteen years."

"Richard-"

"You had  _nineteen_ years-"

"And how was I supposed to reach you?" Coralee says coldly.

Richard found a way, from _prison_ no less. Surely she could have figured something out. "Did you even try?"

Coralee doesn't respond. She doesn't need to for Richard to know the answer.

That doesn't make it any less painful.

Especially when she says, "I weighed the pros and the cons, and getting you out of prison had more cons."

Richard believes her. Coralee lied to him about a whole lot of things, but those lies never had the clipped, clinical objectivity of what she just told him. He just didn't expect it to hurt. Not after years of dulling the pain of loss and the blame he undertook in her death.

And maybe Coralee senses the pain she's causing him because her tone softens. "Richard, listen to me."

"Why should I?"

That gets to her. Richard can feel the irritation radiating from Coralee, even miles apart. It's a feeling he's all too familiar with, present whenever Richard refused to simply go along with one of her ideas. Whether that idea was planting a vegetable garden or leaving the country to escape a religious cult. "You know, you could be a little more considerate given how hard you tried to find me," Coralee says. "What if I just hang up?"

"And run away again?" Richard says spitefully. "At least it wouldn't be total shock this time."

"I did what I did to survive."

"And that involved leaving me to rot?"

"I didn't leave you to  _rot-_ "

"Then why didn't you come back-"

"Dammit Richard, Alex is with me!"

His heart nearly stops.

 _Alex_.

Any animosity toward Coralee gets pushed aside. Richard just wants to hear her voice, even if it's just a sentence. Hell, a _word_. Anything so he can know for sure she's okay. "Is she all right?" he says.

"She's fine," Coralee says. "A little disoriented but that's probably from driving her up and down the west coast. And also the chloroform."

" _What_?"

"I'm _joking_. God." Coralee sighs. "I thought inmates had a dark sense of humor. What the hell were you thinking pointing her in my direction?"

The contempt in her voice spurs Richard to Alex's defense. "She was doing her job."

"Well, her job put her right in the path of Thomas," Coralee says, clearly not impressed. "She's lucky I got to her before his people did."

Alex is lucky. As much as Richard hates to admit it. "Thank you. For keeping her safe."

"Don't thank me yet; I still need to get her back to Seattle in one piece."

"Can I speak to her?"

"She's sleeping." The finality in her voice indicates no room for persuasion. And she quickly moves on to another topic. "We don't have much time. Thomas is practically counting down to the day you step out of prison. Your appeal's tomorrow, correct?"

He looks over at his clock. "Technically it's today."

"Shit." He thinks he hears Coralee stand, or at least push a chair back. "Okay. Richard, if this appeal goes through, that means you aren't under the protection of the federal prison system." Richard can't help but huff out a laugh. And he thinks he hears Coralee laugh. "Poor choice of words, I know. Thomas still thinks you can locate Tiamat-"

"I don't believe-"

"And I  _know_ , you think it's a myth, but Thomas still believes in it, and a lot of very powerful people also believe in it," Coralee says. "The world has changed since 1997, Richard. There are more efficient ways of making people disappear. You and Alex need to watch yourselves."

"What are you going to do?" he asks.

"What I do best: run and hide," Coralee says with that same wry sense of humor that almost makes Richard forget all she's done to him. "Thomas still thinks I'm dead, and that's going to change very soon. I need to get a head start."

There's something bothering Richard. "Why now? Why risk your life after hiding for so long?"

"You can blame her for that."

"You mean..." Richard's mouth drops open as he fully processes what Coralee's saying. 

Alex did help him. 

"Her little story started gaining traction. She convinced me you'd be less of a target the more you were in the public eye. And you can't get more in the public eye than an exoneration." Despite his pushing and protesting, Alex helped him. Richard wishes he could tell her now. "I have to give it to her: she's persistent," Coralee remarks. "No wonder she drives you crazy."

If Coralee knew the extent of their conversations off the record, she'd see Alex does more than drive him crazy. She challenges him. She never accepts his arguments at face value because she's too bright for that. Not just bright, she's smart and she's brave and she's curious and... "She is," Richard says. "Persistent, that is."

How he wishes he could talk to her.

"I have to go now," Coralee says. "Be safe."

Already? "Wait," Richard says. "That day in 1997: what happened?"

"I wish I had time to tell you. But you'll know soon enough."

She's disappearing again. And even though Richard knows she's all right, knows she's not dead, he still feels that same flutter of panic from when he realized she was gone.  

Maybe Coralee realizes that too because her tone softens again. "You were right. About Thomas. About everything. I don’t know why I ever got involved with the Cult of Tiamat. But now I’m trying to undo the damage." He assumes that's all she has to say then he hears, "And Richard?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry. For getting you caught up in this."

Before he can respond, she hangs up. Gone again. His cell hangs heavy with the absence of another voice. It's almost five now. Richard stands and cranes his neck toward the window in the upper right corner of his cell. It's no bigger than a shoebox, but it's all the natural light he gets from his cell. The sun hasn't come up yet. This early in the morning with the sun still beneath the horizon feels eerie. He remembers they call this time late in the night and early in the morning the witching hour. The time for supernatural phenomena.

Lord, he sounds like one of the people from his black tapes.

Alex is safe. Coralee is alive. His hearing is in five hours. He might be getting out of prison. Maybe. He refuses to entertain the prospect of fully getting out of prison until he hears it from the judge.

With one last look out the window, Richard slides the burner phone back under his mattress before getting back into bed. At this point, it's all he can do. Melinda probably wants him to sleep. He closes his eyes with one last thought about Coralee.

She didn't say, "I love you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So good news: I graduated from college! Which means I have like a month between graduating and moving i.e. more time to write! We're getting pretty close to the end of this story, and I'm hoping to get it done before the end of summer. Again, we'll see.
> 
> Also is the show coming back? I'm getting mixed messages from PNWS which is nothing new.


	21. Thomas and Coralee

Coralee is hanging up the hotel phone when Alex stirs. "Sleep well?" Coralee says.

Alex yawns. She doesn’t have the heart to tell Coralee she only slept a couple hours. She sits up and massages the back of her neck. "Who were you talking to?" Alex asks.

"Hotel clerk."

Before Alex can ask any more questions, Coralee heads into the bathroom. Alex checks the clock; it's almost five now. They checked in around eleven last night, and Coralee left with the key around one in the morning. Alex fell asleep around three; she must have slept through Coralee coming in. Maybe that's an improvement.

Coralee emerges with their bag of toiletries. She’s removed the scarf around her neck, revealing a long, jagged scar. Coralee catches Alex staring, causing Alex to look down at the sheets. "You can ask," Coralee says like a teacher giving permission.

"How did that happen?"

"I did it to myself," Coralee says. "Left me comatose for roughly three weeks."

And before Alex can even unpack what Coralee just told her, Coralee grabs the duffle bag she had at a check-in and tosses it on the bed. "Help me pack. We need to be out of here in thirty minutes."

They pack in silence. Not that there's much: toiletries, the clothes Alex was wearing five days ago, Alex's recorder (which Coralee confiscated the second Alex got in the van), and a now empty bottle of blonde hair dye. When Coralee left, she had long brown hair, much closer to the pictures before her disappearance. Now her hair is bleach blonde and cropped to her shoulders. 

Alex sneaks glances at Coralee, trying to figure out the woman Richard married. Or maybe just making sure the woman next to her doesn't turn out to be a hallucination. She keeps going back to that scar. It goes from just below Coralee's right ear over to her left and down toward her collarbone.

What state of mind was Coralee in to inflict that type of wound on herself?

Coralee hands her the baseball cap she's made Alex wear every time they go outside. "You know the drill."

Alex puts the cap on, tucking her hair into it. She's not sure if she's been kidnapped, but moments like this one make her feel like she has. But Coralee gave her a choice. When she pulled up, she didn't even tell Alex who she was. Only that if Alex wanted answers, she had them. Alex was ready to dismiss her and run to her car when she said something that gave her chills:

_"If you want to end up like Amalia, you can stay here."_

Alex had to know.

Now Alex wordlessly follows Coralee out of the hotel room and through the hallway to the elevator. There are hardly any people out given how early it is. Probably how Coralee planned it. The elevator opens on the garage level, and Alex follows Coralee to where the van is parked. 

Coralee opens the passenger door. "Get in. I'll be right back."

Alex obeys, and the door slams shut, leaving her alone in the car once again. That's how they've been for the past five days. Coralee drives. She drops Alex off in a motel or a house in the middle of nowhere. She leaves. Her only instructions to Alex are that she not to go outside or use the phone.

Maybe she has been kidnapped.

Even more frustrating, despite spending five days with her, Alex is no closer to figuring out the mystery that is Coralee Strand. Every time she's tried to ask a question, Coralee either hasn't responded or she's said, "I know what you're trying to do Alex, and now is not the time." She's a journalist's nightmare. Richard complains, but Alex can sometimes sway him to answer her questions. Coralee doesn't budge.

Ten minutes later, Coralee comes back to the car with two drinks. She hands Alex one. "Here. Something for the road."

Alex takes a sip and finds it's a hot cup of black tea. She gratefully takes a few more sips. "So where are we going now?"

"South."

Alex knows exactly how she'd describe Coralee on the podcast: in control. She has a way of ending a conversation when _she_ wants to. Alex is lucky if she gets more than two words out of Coralee for the duration of this trip. Wherever it is they're going now. 

As Coralee pulls onto I-5, Alex prepares herself for another long stretch of staring out the car window. She takes another swig of tea before deciding to hold off. If she only has one cup for the trip, she'd like to make it last.

"How are you feeling?"

Alex blinks, her focus no longer on the road. Did Coralee just ask her about her well-being? "I'm... tired," Alex says, sounding less tired and more confused.

"Alex, I think it's time we talk." Coralee reaches into the duffle bag. "On the record."

And in the most surprising move of this entire experience, Coralee pulls out Alex's recorder. Alex stares in disbelief at her recorder and back at Coralee. "You're kidding, right?"

"Excuse me?"

"You basically haven't talked to me for days, and _now_ you want me to interview you?" Alex says.

"You mean you don’t want the first interview with Richard Strand’s dead wife?" Coralee responds. "I thought you'd be thrilled. Isn't that what your little story's been building up to?"

There's a level of spite in her voice thats contrasts with the calm tone she's kept with Alex. Then Alex realizes. "You've been listening to the show."

"Imagine my surprise when I went to check my PO box, and Tina asked if I 'knew a Coralee Strand.' Then I find out not only is there a radio show about my case, but my incarcerated husband is the centerpiece. I don't know what you did to get Richard talking," Coralee says. Maybe she sees the red in Alex's cheeks because she adds. "It's not bad; you've ended on a cliffhanger, but I don't blame you. But your story has a few holes that need to be filled in. So I'm offering you an interview. On _my_ terms," she emphasizes, clearly noticing how hard Alex is eyeing her recorder. "I start the interview, and I end it. But anything in-between is fair game."

Alex doesn't like this arrangement. But she can complain or she can do her job. "Anything is fair game?" Alex says.

"Anything."

She chooses her job. Always.

"Fine. Your terms. But I'm asking the questions."

"Of course." Coralee presses the record button. "Ask your first question."

"What's your name?" Alex says.

"My name is Coralee Strand. My husband is Richard Strand. I've been missing for nineteen years."

"How did you meet Richard?"

Coralee pauses. "Do you want the official version or the real version?"

"Both."

"Officially: Richard and I met at a religious studies seminar. In reality: Thomas Warren orchestrated our first meeting."

Of course. What Coralee says matches up with what Richard told Alex during their last visit. "Why did Thomas Warren want you two to meet?"

Coralee gives Alex a look like she's just broken a rule. "We're getting there. The plan was I'd get close to him."

"Close enough to marry him?"

"I didn't anticipate marrying him, but when he proposed, Thomas urged me to go along with it. And you've seen pictures; he wasn't exactly the worst-looking person to marry." Coralee smiles to herself, but it quickly fades. "I wasn't considering how I might hurt Richard in the long term because I was so wrapped up in our cause."

"Your cause?"

Coralee tenses just the tiniest bit. "I used to be part of a cult. Thomas would call it an order, but it’s a cult," she says emphatically. "Although at first, it didn't feel like one. There weren't any robes or rituals. I didn't question the late-night meetings or how whenever someone left, I never heard from them again. I thought we were just doing research. That's what Thomas wanted me to believe- what he wanted _all_ of us to believe."

"What were you researching?"

"We treat science and religion as separate entities, but what if they aren’t as separate as we think?" Coralee says. "What if religious folklore draws from scientific concepts and vice versa? Take the concept of turning water into wine."

"But isn't that scientifically impossible?" Alex asks.

"According to Thomas, science simply hasn't found a way to do so yet." Alex can still hear a sliver of excitement in her voice. She can only imagine how Coralee must have felt when she bought into the cult's messages.

"So Thomas Warren..." Alex pauses, trying to word this correctly, "...Thomas Warren believed religious myths might true?"

"More specifically, ancient religion," Coralee says. "Sumerian, Babylonian, anything before the Common Era no matter how obscure it was. We researched ancient rituals, artifacts, anything that might hold scientific merit. And we... practiced a few." Coralee has a somber look on her face. "But the holy grail of our work was the Horn of Tiamat."

Alex sits up. The Horn of Tiamat. Richard mentioned Tiamat to her the last time they saw each other. _Richard_... they were supposed to talk over the phone the day after Coralee spirited her away. Alex wonders what he's doing right now. Has anyone told him she's missing?

"Thomas believed the Horn of Tiamat was vital to the development of sound technology," Coralee says.

"How so?"

"What if you could ease your pain just by playing a frequency?" Coralee says. "What if you could change a memory? Or erase it entirely. Thomas was working toward behavioral modification."

Alex thinks back what Sean told her. Back in the interview room, he mentioned a sound. And then the Unsound. And... Amalia. Just how far has Thomas advanced since the research began?

"In the late eighties, Daeva Corp was starting to make the smallest steps in sound technology, but Thomas wasn't getting the drastic changes in behavior he desired," Coralee continues. "He believed the Horn of Tiamat was the amplifier he needed to do so. He just didn't know where to find it."

"What did he do?" Alex says.

Coralee looks at Alex, _really_ looks into her eyes and into her soul. "Have you noticed Richard’s good at finding things?"

Alex frowns. "I don’t know entirely what you mean."

"First season, seventh episode," Coralee says. She has been listening. "How did Richard find Sebastian Torres?"

"He found a path that lead to-"

"How did he find the path?"

How  _did_  Richard find it? Alex was walking with him, and he just... saw it. There were five other police officers accompanying him, and not one of them spotted that path, herself included. "He..."

"...just knew where to go?" Coralee says knowingly. 

Alex looks down at her cup. "Yeah. He did."

"Why would Richard disappear for five days?"

"I don't know-"

"Yes you do," Coralee says firmly. "Get Richard out of your head, Alex.  _Why_?"

Everything people have told Alex runs through her head like a tape on fast forward. Coralee's parents. Ruby. Charlie. Richard himself. He disappeared for five days, picked Charlie up, and went to the shack where his wife's blood was found. But he didn't run. Why did he shut down? Unless...

"He was looking for you," Alex says. She puts a hand over her mouth. "Not just looking for you he- he followed your trail." 

"And if Richard had gotten to that shack two hours earlier, he would have found me," Coralee says. "Do you see why Thomas believed Richard could locate the Horn of Tiamat?"

Alex shakes her head. "This can't be real-"

"It's real Alex," she says. "Thomas targeted Richard because he believes Richard has clairvoyant abilities."

If Alex was in the editing room, this would be the spot where she goes to commercial break. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had to split this chapter into two parts because it was getting REALLY long. But hey, more Coralee! She's a tricky character to write. That and trying to make a coherent narrative out of all the info the show gave us...


	22. Coralee and Richard

A van drives south on I-5 as the first rays of sun peak over the horizon. Two women are in it: one who's been missing for five days, and one who's been missing for nineteen years.

Alex is gripping onto her cup of tea like it's her recorder. "Clairvoyant," she says like she has to confirm it.

"Yes," Coralee says.

It's a bombshell. A bombshell on top of the bombshell that Coralee has been alive and hiding for years. Alex can see the headlines now: a psychic skeptic. A shadowy organization. A dead wife who was never really dead. "You know how that sounds, don't you?" Alex says. Sensational. The story has twists, the kind of twists that attract tabloids.

"Richard will deny it to his dying breath," Coralee says. "But Thomas believes he has the gift. And after seeing what Richard's capable of, I believe he has it too."

 _The gift_. Richard would scoff hearing someone say that about him. "I'm sorry, but this is... a lot to take in."

"You don't believe me."

Alex winces. She at least _tried_ to be tactful. "It's just... I don't see enough concrete evidence to prove that Richard is psychic."

"You've been spending too much time with Richard." Alex bites back a retort of _At least I've been spending time with him_. "Ask him about Bobby Mames."

"Bobby Mames?"

Coralee smiles like she's keeping a secret. "When you see Richard again, ask him. He'll know."

Not if.  _When_. Alex yawns as she takes another sip of tea. She didn't realize she was this tired. But the red light on her recorder is still blinking; the interview's not over yet. "So you and Thomas were working to use Richard's psychic abilities to locate the Horn of Tiamat. After you married Richard, were you any closer to finding it?"

"We... disagreed on how to handle Richard," Coralee says. "Thomas wanted to use Richard, and I wanted to conceive a child he could pass on his abilities to."

"Why use a child?"

"I argued a child would be easier to condition to our belief system than a hard-boiled skeptic." Coralee notices Alex staring. "Don’t give me that look. I wouldn’t do that now."

"Why not use Charlie?"

"Charlie is _not_ a part of this."

The fierce protectiveness in her voice takes Alex aback. It's the first time she's seen something from Coralee that doesn't seem calculated specifically for this conversation. Yes, Coralee only married Richard for the cult, and yes, their marriage was built on a lie...

But Charlie called her _Mom_. Maybe over time, she grew into that role.

"I don't think she possesses Richard's abilities. But even if she did, I lied to Thomas," Coralee says. She pauses, looking down at the wheel. "Honestly... Charlie made me realize I was playing with the lives of real people. When I started second-guessing my involvement in Tiamat."

For the first time, Alex doesn't see a hardened woman who's spent decades hiding. She sees a mom missing her daughter. "Is there anything you'd like to say to Charlie?"

Coralee brings the recorder closer to herself. "Charlie... I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you. And I'm not mad about the sweater."

Alex gives Coralee a moment. She knew Charlie was affected by Coralee's disappearance; she hadn't anticipated Coralee feeling the same way. "What did you do after you married Richard?" Alex says, gently nudging the interview forward.

"When I first married Richard, I thought I could convert him. I thought I was  _meant_ to." Coralee makes no effort to hide the disdain and embarrassment in her voice. "I tried to use the techniques Thomas taught me. Coercion. Reinforcement. Our plan was to get Richard working for Daeva Corp. Thomas and I met once a month to discuss my progress. But Richard was... difficult to convert." Alex stifles a laugh. If Richard hasn't changed since marrying Coralee, no wonder he was difficult. "About five years into the marriage, he started to question why I was gone so much. He thought I was having an affair. He didn't confront me, but I... sensed it."

"Were you having an affair?" Alex asks.

Coralee looks like she's been expecting that question for nineteen years. "My relationship with Thomas, while emotionally intense, was never of a romantic nature. But I undoubtedly gave more of myself to Thomas than Richard."

Alex notices Coralee isn't wearing a wedding ring. She knows it's probably to help her cover, but she has to ask... "Did you love Richard?"

The question hangs heavy in the air. Coralee exhales. "I cared about him," she says. "Deeply. But you can't build a relationship on a lie."

She's not wrong.

"The longer I was married to Richard, the more conflicted I became about our cause. If finding the Horn of Tiamat was destiny, why wasn't Richard converting? Why was he devoted to skepticism?" Coralee says. "After eight years, Thomas was impatient, and worse: the research was improving. Thomas started discussing alternative methods to force Richard's compliance."

"What kind of methods?"

"The kind they used on Amalia." Alex wants to ask what happened to Amalia, whether she'll ever see her again, but Coralee keeps talking. "By 1997, I realized I didn't support the cause anymore, and more importantly, I was afraid of what Thomas would do when he found out I didn't. I needed to disappear. But Thomas had a wide reach. There was nowhere in the country I could go, and I couldn't leave without Richard. Our marriage was on its dying breaths by that point. So I convinced him to go on a road trip."

"Did Richard know what you were planning?"

"Not when we left. He thought we were going to Big Sur. We'd talked about going there for ages, and I just wanted to get us out the door and away from Charlie. The first two hours of the trip were uneventful. We pulled over to get gas, and that's when I came clean. Richard was furious. And hurt. I don't think I've ever hurt someone so much as I did on that day." Coralee sounds so blasé talking about the day she hurt Richard. But Alex can see the tension in her hands as she tightly grips the wheel. "I tried to explain what Thomas would do if he caught us. But he wouldn't listen. So I took off. If I couldn't save Richard's ass, I could at least save my own. Only I anticipated Thomas going after  _him_."

"...And instead he went after you?"

Coralee nods. "I got about five hundred feet down the highway before a car pulled out in front of me. I tried to run. The car rammed into me. Hurt like hell. Next thing I knew, I was being dragged into the backseat. Three higher-ups of the cult were in the car. They didn't even look angry, just... disappointed." There's a faraway look in her eyes. "They brought me to a shack. You know the one."

The infamous shack. Alex thinks back to when she saw it, now seeing Coralee and three other people gathered in it.

"That's when Thomas came in. I begged Thomas to let me go, promised I wouldn't tell anyone. He wouldn't hear it," Coralee continues. "He said he would find another use for me, willing or unwilling. I knew the experiments Daeva Corp was conducting, and I knew what he could do to me. One of people with him had a knife. I saw an opportunity and took it."

Alex looks at the scar again. "And you weren't successful."

Her entire body posture has gone from relatively relaxed to ramrod stiff. "If I had been alone, I would have bled out. Unfortunately, Thomas still cared about my well-being. He took me to a hospital, one of the ones Daeva Corp funded. Signed me in under an alias. When I woke up from the coma, I had no idea how long I'd been out or how much my disappearance had blown up on the news."

"What did you do after you woke up?"

"I couldn't do anything," Coralee says. "Not only could I not talk, I had a broken leg and blunt force trauma. That and I was surrounded by people who worked for the man that brought me there.  Sometimes Thomas would visit. He'd talk to me about the all the things he was going to use me for when I was fully healed. I think he was angry. I'd ruined his plans for Richard."

Alex remembers her own encounter with Thomas Warren. His confident but unnerving posture and his piercing green eyes. He'd unsettled her during the two minutes she saw him. How did Coralee fare immobilized in a hospital bed?

"I knew once I recovered, I'd disappear completely. I had to get away before that happened. I volunteered at a hospital one summer in college; I knew where they kept records. When I was well enough to walk, I forged my death certificate and a coroner's report. Then I stole a wallet and a change of clothes and hopped on a bus," Coralee says. "If you check the hospital records of the Nampa City Hospital, there should be an Andrea Rhodes who died of accident-induced injuries on July 18, 1998."

Alex makes a mental note. Coralee tells her story so cut and dry - which makes what happened to her all the more astonishing. "Your escape sounds incredible."

"It didn't feel very incredible. I felt lost."

Staring out the windshield, the ghosts of her past laid out before her, she still looks a little lost.

"What did you do after that?"

Coralee gladly continues. "I had some money stored away and a few fake IDs for when Richard and I were supposed to leave. But I was petrified Thomas would find me. I spent a year in Yukon too afraid to leave the cabin I rented let alone figure out what to do next."

"And Richard? Did you ever-"

"By the time I had the nerve to read a newspaper, Richard had been in prison for months. And I was dead. There was nothing I could do."

"So you left him?" Alex says, trying not to sound bothered by what Coralee said.

She's not convincing. "I'm not saying I did the right thing," Coralee says. "God knows I'd do things differently now."

"But you could have come back now or even a year ago or- or even five years ago!" Her voice is getting louder.

"You don't understand the mindset I was in," Coralee says calmly, like she's placating a child. "Back then, Thomas felt inescapable. I genuinely thought Richard would be safer in prison. I still think he'd be safer there."

Alex doesn't know what to say. She takes another swig of tea and looks out at the road. The journalist in her wants to continue, but the person in her wants to yell at Coralee. How could she rationalize leaving Richard in prison? Didn't she ever think about what Richard was going through? Yes, she was on the run, but she could have called the police or _something_. 

"Alex."

She bites back a scowl. "I don't-"

"Alex, look at me."

Begrudgingly, Alex meets her eyes. Those steely blue eyes, not as cool and not as intense as Richard's, but a darker, more serious shade of blue. 

And looking into her eyes, Alex sees she's about to tell her something important. "Are you afraid of Thomas Warren?"

"I'm not sure," Alex says.

"You should be. I don't know the extent of his progress, but I do know he has more money and he has more supporters," Coralee says. "When Richard is released, you two need to be cautious."

Alex takes in what she's saying. "Are you-"

"I'm giving you a smoking gun, Alex: my testimony. I don't want to come out of hiding, but you've made it very clear that an innocent man doesn't deserve imprisonment."

"What will happen to you?"

"I have my people. I'm not the only one who grew disillusioned with Tiamat. But when I disappear again, don't try to find me this time." Coralee glances at the clock on the dashboard. "It should be kicking in any second now."

Alex frowns. "What do you-" She yawns again. She hasn’t felt this sleepy since- her eyes widen. Since being on _painkillers_. "Did you _drug_ me?"

Coralee doesn’t look away from the road. "Don’t take it personal. I don't want you knowing the routes I took to get you back."

"But I..." Her eyes flutter. Her head drops forward.

" _Shh_. Don't fight it," Coralee says. "You've been very nice company, Alex. But Richard needs you now."

And as Coralee Strand hits stop on Alex's recorder, Alex finally loses the fight to keep her eyes open and drifts off into unwilling sleep.

* * *

When Alex wakes up, she’s sitting in her car. The sun is up, and her keys are in the ignition, like she merely dozed off for a few hours. There’s a parcel taped to the wheel. Bleary-eyed, Alex opens the parcel and pulls out a note. 

_Take this to King County District Court. Find Richard._

_\- Coralee_

Alex looks into the parcel and gasps.

She needs to get to King County District Court.

* * *

Richard glances nervously at the clock. The appeal should be starting any minute now. He looks around the courtroom for what feels like the hundredth time, hoping in vain that Alex is somewhere in the crowd. He didn't expect so many  _people_. And the cameras. Every time he looks back, he hears one go off.

"Richard, focus."

Melinda comes into vision. Her arms are crossed and there's a concerned look on her face. "I'm sorry," Richard says. "Has there been any word on-"

"We can worry about Alex when we get you out of prison," Melinda says knowingly. "Did you look over the notecards?"

"Yes."

He can feel them in his pocket. On them are every potential argument that might come up in court. He's had them prepared for weeks now, but at the moment their contents have completely left his head.

"Good. We should be starting soon."

As Melinda takes a seat, Richard looks around the courtroom again. Ruby is at the back of courtroom talking on her phone. Probably to another reporter. She's been a godsend -not that Richard believes in a god- dealing with the press. He's going to give her a raise once this is over.

Then he sees her. 

Richard sits up, not believing it's her. But he knows that face.

Charlie. 

She gives him a small wave. Richard waves back. He can't believe she's here. The last time he saw her, she was a child. The woman staring back at him feels like a different person.

He supposes they're both different people now.

Richard jumps hearing the gavel hit the wood. Focus. He has to focus. "We are here today to discuss the conviction of Richard Howard Strand, sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole for the murder of Coralee Jacobson Strand," the judge, a woman in her forties says. "Before we begin-"

A voice yells from outside the courtroom, "I have to get in there!"

Richard knows that voice.

Heads turn as the double doors part, and a disheveled Alex Reagan sweeps into the courtroom. She meets his eyes only briefly before facing the judge.

Alex holds up a plastic bag with her recorder in it. "I would like to submit new evidence in the case of Coralee Strand."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy to get this chapter done! This one and the last one were a monster to write. I'm also continuously floored by the support for this fic. Thank you again!!


	23. Wildflowers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added F/M category for... reasons :)

Acquitted is such a lovely word.

Alex’s testimony doesn’t do it. The note Coralee left doesn't do it. Not even Coralee’s voice on record does it. No, the thing that gets Dr. Richard Strand acquitted is something that can’t be faked after twenty years.

Coralee’s fingerprints.

They’re all over Alex’s recorder. And considering that specific model wasn’t even available until 2014, the judge ruled Richard couldn’t have murdered his wife.

The next three weeks go by in a whirlwind. The police bring Alex in to collect her recorder and any DNA Coralee might have left on her. The appeal gets put on hold then taken off then turned into a whole new trial. Richard speaks when spoken to, holding himself even better knowing Alex is safe.

But the court proceedings give Richard few chances to talk with Alex. On court breaks, they exchange quick "How are you?"s but that's about the extent of their conversations. If Melinda didn't need to talk to Richard, then Ruby did, or a reporter, or even Charlie. And all the PNWS people were clamoring to make sure Alex was okay. Nic barged into the courtroom 45 minutes after Alex did. There's simply no opportunity for a one-on-one conversation.

Until the day of his release. Then it’s just the two of them.

They're standing side by side outside his cell. Alex has her hair up. Her face is completely healed save for a tiny scar on her left cheekbone.

She looks ready to take on the world.

Ruby’s at a press conference, distracting reporters so Alex can inconspicuously pick up Richard. Alex will drive him back to his father's house where Ruby will handle accommodations. Richard still can't think of that place as his house.

Or how this really is happening.

"You look different," Alex says.

His hand instinctively goes to stroke a beard that’s no longer there. "Melinda thought I needed a more clean-cut look.” And a haircut. And new glasses. And a suit. He initially scoffed at the idea.

But seeing himself in the mirror, Richard could see the shadow of his old self, not entirely gone like he assumed.

Most of his things have already been collected; Ruby took care of that. All that’s left are the random things, things she wasn’t sure he wanted to keep or discard. In its current state, his cell looks like time is rewinding, the years spent in here slipping away with the books and papers. In thirty minutes, the cell will be entirely clear, ready for some other sap to take Richard’s place.

He didn’t expect to feel so melancholic.

"Do you want help?" Alex says gently.

"Please."

They go through everything. Alex doesn’t ask questions, even when she picks up a book or CD and clearly wants to ask him why he has it. In the end, everything he wants to keep amounts to two shoeboxes. Alex offers to carry them, but Richard holds onto them like a life preserver.

With everything out, his cell feels bigger. He didn’t even think that was possible.

They also go through the valuables he turned in at the start of his sentence. He didn't have much. There's the watch Coralee got him on their fifth anniversary. There's his wallet, a fine leather that's held up after nineteen years. There might be a twenty in it if Richard remembers correctly. And then...

"What about this?" Alex holds it up.

It’s his wedding ring.

Richard takes it from her hand, turning it over. The smooth gold band is still shiny. The last time he wore it feels like a lifetime ago.

He pockets the ring.

As they walk out, Richard half-expects the guards to drag him back in and tell him his acquittal’s been reversed. But they don't. One guard even smiles at him as he walks out the door.

They get to the car, and Richard is certain there's been a mistake. He can feel his chest tightening, every nerve in his body-

"Are you good?"

Alex is looking at him, eyes wide and concerned. His hand fumbles with the seatbelt, but his gaze is firm. "Yes."

"Okay." Alex starts the car. "Let's bust you out."

Richard's heart just about stops. "I don't think it's a breakout when the conviction's overturned." Right? Please let him be right.

"I know." Her cheeks are red. "It sounded cooler in my head."

He laughs. Or tries to. It comes out more strangled than he intended. "Forgive me if I'm a little tense."

"I think if anyone gets a free pass, it's you," Alex says. "Are you ready?"

Richard looks out through the gate onto the open expanse of road and knows his answer.

"Yes," he lies.

* * *

Alex isn't sure which Strand she's more surprised to be driving in a car with.

She keeps looking over at Richard just to make sure he's really there. She can't believe they're in the same car. No guards. No restraints. He's looking out the window, one hand under his chin, watching the trees fly by. It's the most at peace he's looked since Alex picked him up.

Which is why Alex curses when her gas light comes on.

Richard turns to her, tense all over again. "Something wrong?"

"I need to stop for gas soon," Alex says.

"Ah." Richard sits back in his seat, clearly taking in what's about to happen. "Just... don't disappear."

"I think that'd be a little redundant at this point," Alex says wryly.

They're keeping their tones light, but they both have Coralee on their minds.

A few minutes later, Alex pulls off onto an exit; this should be one of the exits that gets heavier traffic. She's hoping more people around will put Richard at ease. He still gets out of the car when she does, looking around at the parking lot like he's expecting an ambush.

There  _are_ people here, thankfully. They're going about their everyday lives. Some are traveling. Some are going home for the day. The atmosphere feels so normal.

Richard has his arms tightly crossed, and he keeps looking over his shoulder. Alex wishes she could do something to put him at ease. 

Then she sees the adjacent convenience store and has an idea. "Do you want anything? Like candy or... I don't know, something you couldn't get in prison?" she asks Richard.

Richard blinks. "I..." He contemplates. "Some Junior Mints would be nice."

Junior Mints. Alex smiles. "Okay. Be right back."

She leaves the gas pumping and heads inside. The store isn't as crowded as the parking lot. Alex picks up a box on Junior Mints. It hasn't dawned on her until now how much food Richard has missed out on. On a whim, she treats herself to a Snickers bar. 

When she comes out, Richard isn't by the car. 

No. This can't be happening, how could Thomas Warren possibly know-

Then Alex spots him. There's a field of wildflowers right by the gas station. His back is to her, arms no longer crossed. He must have seen the flowers and wandered over. God, how paranoid has Alex become?

She has another idea.

Alex hurries back to the car and finishes getting gas. Then she drives over to the edge of the parking lot where Richard is, parking so the car is facing the field.

Richard startles but settles when he realizes it's just Alex. She gets out and hops onto the hood of the car. "Here." She pats the hood. "Nic and I used to do this back in college." She omits the part where they would smoke a joint and listen to The Cranberries.

Richard eyes the car nervously but hoists himself up with her. "I know it's absurd to be enthralled by the sight of flowers."

"It's not." He gives her a skeptical look. " _Really_. It's kind of sweet."

She hands him the box of Junior Mints. "I just... can't believe I'm seeing this. I can't believe I'm here with you," Richard says, taking a single Junior Mint out. He holds it in his hand, like he's hesitant to eat it. "I keep feeling like..."

"...something bad's going to happen?" Alex says.

"Yes."

She can't tell him everything's okay and nothing's going to happen to them. Coralee's warnings about Thomas Warren still ring in her head. The view is beautiful, but Alex can't shake the feeling that this moment is the calm before the storm.

"Coralee told me I should be afraid of Thomas Warren," Alex says. "When I interviewed her."

"What else did she say?"

Of course he wants to know about the interview. Parts of the transcript were read in court, and a snippet of Coralee's voice was compared to the 1998 PNWS recording. But Richard hasn't heard the audio in its entirety.

Alex still hasn't asked him about Bobby Mames.

"My recorder is still in evidence. Once I get it back you'll be the first person I play it to." And then she can deal with that. Now doesn't feel like the right time, not when they've worked so hard to get him exonerated. Now is just one of those moments where Alex needs to sit back and... smell the flowers.

They are beautiful. The sun is out today, highlighting the vivid red and purple wildflowers.

The sun's also hitting Richard, giving him a warm glow. He picks out each individual Junior Mint, savoring each bite before grabbing the next one. He reminds Alex more of a teenager at the movies than a middle-aged man who spent nineteen years in prison.

Alex takes a bite of her Snickers bar. "How is it?" she says.

"...flavorful." He turns the box over. "I probably should have paced myself."

"Are you still hungry?"

"No."

"Be honest."

"...a little bit."

Alex snaps the Snickers bar in half and scoots closer to Richard. He immediately protests, "You don't have to-"

"I don't mind sharing. Really." Alex holds it out. After one more second of resistance, Richard takes the half from Alex.

"Thank you."

"No problem."

"No, _thank you_. For everything. You continued to look into my case even when I pushed you away," Richard says. "I wouldn't be here without you."

Alex meets his eyes. "I had to try. Especially when I knew you didn't do it."

"And when was that?"

"The day you found Sebastian Torres."

They hold each other's gaze. Her mind goes back to the day they found Sebastian. When they were leaning against that cop car. How they felt totally alone despite being surrounded by people. Now they're really alone, and she doesn't know what she's feeling but it's giving her goosebumps. Looking into Richard's eyes she can tell he's feeling the same thing.

"What have we gotten ourselves into?" she murmurs.

She's referring of course to Thomas Warren. Daeva Corp. Tiamat. But there is something else that she can't quite articulate.

"I don't know," Richard says.

Have his eyes always been this blue?

Alex breaks eye contact first. "We should get going."

"Yes," Richard says quickly.

They drive back in silence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fast update is fast. Woo! I can picture the last part in my head like a movie. I really enjoyed writing this chapter overall.


	24. Aftershocks

The calm of that afternoon wouldn't last.

Alex gets a call at 2:38 am. She knows it’s 2:38 am because she's awake. She's been awake all night.

So awake that when her cell rings, she's in her kitchen boiling water for tea. The number is random. Her body stiffens - it could be another call from Thomas Warren's network. Nic would tell her to ignore it. Alex squeezes her eyes shut, the ringing and the boiling water pounding in her ears. God, she wishes she could just  _sleep_.

It finally stops. Then as soon as she takes the pot off the stove, her phone rings again. Same number. She stares at her phone for a good three rings before deciding to hell with it. She's got nothing better to do tonight. "Hello?"

"Alex."

It's Richard. Why is Richard calling her at two in the morning? "Is everything okay?" Alex says.

"I can't stay there."

His voice sounds pained. Like he's gasping for air.

"What do you mean 'you can't stay there?'"

"I can't- I just can't stay there."

Something's wrong. "Do you mean your house?" She hears the honk of a horn followed by brakes screeching in the distance. "Are you at a _pay phone_?"

She hears him sigh. It’s a tired, embarrassed sigh. "I couldn’t figure out how to work the cell phone, and I couldn’t stay in that house. Please, if you can just drive me to a motel-"

"I’m not dumping you at a motel," Alex says. She looks over at the pot. Tea will have to wait. "Are you comfortable sleeping at my place?"

There's a pause. "Where will you sleep?"

"I have a couch." Alex rubs her eyes. "Besides, I probably won’t sleep much tonight anyways."

* * *

She pulls up to a brightly lit 7-Eleven and immediately spots Richard’s lanky figure by the ice machine. His arms are crossed so tightly he looks like he'll snap in two. It's also way too cold outside for the sweatpants and long-sleeved t-shirt he's wearing and- Alex squints. Is he _barefoot_?

Richard wordlessly slips into the front seat. "How long have you been outside?" Alex says.

"I don't know."

He's calmer now. But there's a sheen of sweat all over his body. "Does Ruby know you left your house?"

"It's not my house."

Alex looks at Richard, the neon lights of the 7-Eleven casting shadows on his face. His face is unreadable. "Did..." She struggles to find the right question. "Are you okay? I mean- was there something in there that-"

"I really don't want to talk about it right now," Richard says.

He sounds as tired as she looks.

They drive back to her apartment in silence. Alex turns the air conditioning on. The cold air bites through the thin fabric of her PJs, but it's... something she can do. Something that might help.

Still, by the time they get back to her apartment, she's freezing. As Alex unlocks the door and lets Richard in, he says, "Thank you. You didn’t have to do this."

"I wanted to. You shouldn't spend your first night in a motel," Alex says.

"Are you sick?"

Alex blinks, taken aback by the random question. "Why would you..." Her hand instinctively flies to the dark circles under her eyes. _Oh_. This is the first time he’s seen her without makeup on. "I'm... having trouble sleeping."

She hates saying that out loud.

And she hates the concern on his face. "How long?" he says.

"I really don't want to talk about it right now." Alex brushes past him to the kitchen. She trudges to her stove to reheat the water only for Richard to follow her into the kitchen. Alex hopes he isn't expecting anything. She doesn't entertain guests at three in the morning. She puts the pot back on the stove. In her peripheral, Richard stands with his arms crossed in the middle of her kitchen like he's waiting for instruction- _of course_. He just got out of prison. He couldn't even make a choice about when to wake up. She motions toward her kitchen table. "You can sit if you want."

He pulls a chair out delicately, trying to minimize the scraping sound. He looks almost comically ginormous sitting at her tiny kitchen table. Like something out of a fairy tale. The tall man in the small house.

The water doesn't take long to boil. "You want some tea?" Alex says.

Richard lights up at the mention of tea. "Please."

Alex grabs another mug and two chamomile tea bags. As she prepares the tea, she can feel Richard's eyes on her. Not in a bad way just... she's not used to anyone watching her at this hour. Alex pulls the edges of her cardigan tighter around her body. 

Alex sets two mugs of steaming hot tea down on the table before taking the seat adjacent to Richard. Unlike him, she makes no effort to hide the scraping sound.

They drink in comfortable silence. Alex doesn't mind. For three in the morning, the company is surprisingly nice.

"I had a panic attack."

Richard says that to the mug more than he does to her. Alex's face falls. "I'm sorry."

He takes a sip of tea. "They used to be more frequent. I had one while in solitary, but the last one besides that was a few years ago."

"Jesus." He mentions it so casually. How long has he been dealing with these? "Was it the house?"

"That house is my father's house. There are some bad memories there; I wrongfully assumed those memories were past me," Richard says. He takes a longer, more contemplative sip of tea. "It... it isn't just the house."

"What is it?" Alex asks gently.

"I don't recognize the world anymore. I don't recognize the cars or the technology or the people. When I saw my own daughter in the courtroom, she didn't look like..." He takes a swig of tea like it'll drown away the last nineteen years. Then he changes the subject. "Do you know how this device works?"

He pulls the cell phone Ruby got him out of his pocket and sets it on the table. Ruby insisted on "getting Richard out of the dark ages," and got the latest iPhone model. No wonder he used the pay phone.

"If it helps, I'm not even totally sure how to work that," Alex says.

"But where are the buttons?"

Alex laughs. Just the slightest. Likewise, Richard smiles just the slightest before taking another sip of tea. 

If they're sharing things... "Seven months."

Richard looks up. "What?"

"I started having trouble sleeping around the time I interviewed Simon Reese. So seven months."

"Are you getting help?"

"No one knows. I mean, Nic suspects but..." Alex stares at a corner of the table, the one where the wood's splintered a bit. "I hate anyone seeing me like this. And if I tell people I'm having trouble sleeping, it'll just feel real-" Alex chokes back a sob. It just hit her. She has insomnia. Honest-to-god insomnia that's not going away no matter how hard she tries to pretend it's not there. 

God, she's tired.

His hand is over hers. Hesitantly. 

Alex turns her hand over and squeezes his. She squeezes hard, like it'll make her finally fall asleep, but Richard doesn't complain. "God, you're warm."

"You're cold."

She lets out something between a laugh and a cry. "My hands aren't even the coldest part of me."

"And what is?"

Without even realizing what she's doing, Alex takes his hand and guides it toward her neck. Richard catches on and slides his hand around the back of her neck, his fingers just catching some strands of hair. The effect is walking into a warm room after being out in the cold. Alex sighs and closes her eyes. She could sleep in this position. Sitting upright and everything. Just as long as he kept his hand on her like this.

"Is this helping?" Richard says with the nervousness of someone on their first date.

"Mm," is the only sound she can manage.

He brings his hand up to her left cheek, tracing a finger along her scar. "It's been a long time."

"Since you touched someone?" Alex murmurs. 

"Like this, yes."

"Could have fooled me."

"Yes, well..."

And then his hand is traveling down. His fingers brush gently across her collarbone, slipping just barely beneath the fabric of her t-shirt. Alex leans into his touch. Then his hand slides back up her neck, back to safety. Alex doesn't want safe. She opens her mouth-

There's a knock at the door.

They both jump like being snapped out of a trance. They look at each other, eyes wide. "Would that be Ruby?" Richard says.

Alex shakes her head. "She would have called first."

There's another knock, this one louder and more insistent. They're both thinking it.

Thomas Warren.

Alex springs up and grabs one of her kitchen knives. "Stay behind me," Richard says. 

"I have the knife!"

"Then hide it." He stands, placing a hand protectively on her chest. "They won't see it coming."

He says that like he's done it before. Alex makes a note to ask him about that later. If there is a later. "Right." She holds the knife behind her back. It's three in the morning, she came close to doing god knows what with Richard, and she's holding a fucking knife.

Not the night she anticipated.

They creep toward her front door. Richard's hand closes around the doorknob.  _On three,_ he mouths to Alex. She nods.

"One, two, three!"

Alex grips the knife. He flings the door open.

And there stands Amalia Chenkova wearing nothing but a black slip and white sneakers.

"So you're this Richard Strand I've heard so much about," Amalia says.

Alex gapes at the sight of her. "Amalia- you-" Then she remembers her last encounter with Amalia and brandishes the knife.

But Amalia doesn't make a move. She tilts her head, looking up and down at Richard's body like it's a piece of fine art. She looks at Alex. "I see why you like him," she says with a lilting smile.

And promptly faints.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more mushy comfort goodness! Another chapter I was really excited to write, although it went in a different direction than I originally intended.
> 
> Also this fic is officially 7/8 done! I wanted to wait to post the number of chapters until I knew for sure how many there would be.


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